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4 



SHORT TALKS 


TO 


YOUNG TOILERS 


3Bb 

1Rev>. jfreJ). C. ©’fletH 

<1 




NEW YORK 

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 

26 BARCLAY STREET 

1905 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

JAN 22 J906 


Copyriyht Entry 
3lc. t 96S 
CLASS C< XXc. No. 


f 3 / 6'^^ 

COPY B. 



mm ©bstat. 

REMIGIUS LAFORT, S. T. L., 

Censor Deputatus. 


Imprimatur* 

JOHN M. FARLEY, 

Archbishop of New York, 


New York, Sept. 27th, 1905. 


irmprtmatur* 

JOHN J. O’CONNOR, 

Bishop of Newark, 


COPTRIOHTED, 1905, 

BY 

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


All Rights Reserved, 


i ' 


BISHOP’S HOUSE, 

552 South Orange Avenue. 

The author of this little book knows how to combine 
the useful with the pleasant and has given to the 
“ Young Toilers” for whom it was written a series of 
entertaining stories told in his own happy way, from 
which he draws lessons of great practical utility. 

The experience of ten years of missionary life among 
the young people of our city parishes has made him 
thoroughly acquainted with his audience and has en- 
abled him to hold their attention while impressing on 
their minds lessons of religion and virtue which will be 
their safeguard amid the dangers to innocence that are 
inseparable from large centers of population. 

I hope that the “Short Talks” will have the wide 
circulation it deserves and I pray the Good Lord to 
bless its author and to give an increase to the fruits of 
holiness in the hearts of the young from the seeds which 
he has sown and watered with his labors. 

John J. O’Connor, 
Bishop of Newark, 

South Orange, N. J., 

Nov. 1, 1905. 


3 


MOUNT ST. FRANCIS, 


To Rev. Feed. C. O’Neill, 

Hoboken, N. J. 

Dear Rev. Father,— I am forwarding to you by ex- 
press the manuscript of your new work “ Short Talks 
to Young Toilers.” After reading a couple of these 
Talks I was so taken with the book that I have post- 
poned all other censor work to finish yours. There is 
no book to which I will give the Nihil Obstat with more 
pleasure than to this, for like yours, my heart goes out 
to our growing up youngsters. Kindly let me know 
your publishers so that I may fill out the oflBlcial appro- 
bation. 

With best wishes for your further success, I remain, 
Yours sincerely, 

Remy Lafort. 

Peekskill, N. Y., 

September 25th, 1905. 



4 . 


f 


? 


I 


f 


^0 

THE BOY JESUS, WHO, UNDER THE GENTLE 
CARE OF MARY AND JOSEPH, PLIED WITH 
HIS LITTLE DIVINE HANDS, THE TOOLS OP THE 
CARPENTER, AND WHO SPENT THIS PERIOD 
OF HIS CHILDHOOD DAYS IN BECOMING A 
MODEL FOR ALL YOUNG TOILERS, THIS 
LITTLE WORK 
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
BY THE 

AUTHOR. 




f 


5 



Hutbot^s preface* 


In the preface to my first little work, 
Twenty-nine Chats and One Scolding,” I 
stated, that in sending it out into the world, 
my feelings were akin to those had by the 
young chap who creeps out upon the stage, 
for the first time, to speak his little piece. 

Yes, I did tremble, for fear my vast au- 
dience would laugh to scorn my first attempt, 
and I be constrained to hurry to the side- 
wings, and be quiet for the rest of my days. 
To my unfeigned gladness, however, I have 
noted, that my listeners have given the 
gracious nod and smile to my tiny effort. 
Yea, more. Some wise heads and old, have 
seen in my little sermons, something of worth, 
that I had overlooked, and they have 
pressed me greatly to come out again. So 
here I am ! Note, however — you in the boxes 
— that while I wear the same mantle, my 
audience is changed. They have hurried 
into the seats pell-mell, rollicking the while. 
Some, without even taking the time to 
straighten the kinks in their hair, or to wash 
the soot of toil from their honest little faces. 
7 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


Still, I am pleased, beyond my telling, at the 
personnel of my young audience. They are 
a crowd that I have been longing to chat 
with, for many months. The months refer to 
the longing. 

You young folks, have the freedom of the 
house. You may laugh, you may toss your 
hats into the air, you may whistle through 
your fingers — little rogues — at what I say, 
and I will not be offended. 

What tempted me to write a book just for 
little toilers ? W ell. I’ll tell you what led to 
it. Across from the rectory wherein I have 
the good fortune to live, there is a beautiful 
park. It is like an oasis in a desert. Not 
far from the park, a factory holds up its 
gloomy walls, and as the pregnant yellow 
fumes coil with a twisting motion out of the 
stack and the iron-clad windows stare coldly 
at you, you are led to query : Is this a 
prison for wayward boys and girls ? ” No, 
good visitor, it is a factory, wherein carbon 
and wood, and graphite, are jumbled together 
in a mysterious process by hundreds of 
busied little fingers, and the result equals the 
output of lead pencils that supplies one- 
fourth of the land. 

I hate to mention factory whistles. So, I 
will say, when the Angelus ” rings at noon, 
I see dozens of groups of youngsters, scamper 
8 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


into the park especially in summer-time, and 
loll on the benches. There they bite away 
at their meagre lunches that are often wrapped 
in the morning Extree.” Still they chatter 
and prank as merrily as the little birds that 
skip on the frail sprigs above their heads. 
You would cause those young scamps to 
laugh at you, if you were to ask them if they 
were eating their dinners. With a roguish 
look and twinkle, some young wag would be 
sure to say: ^‘Na, were just scollopin de 
edges of dese sandwitches. See ! ” 

But, 0, how quickly the half-hour at noon, 
that longed for period, flits away. The 
little emptied baskets and papers, are soon 
laid aside, and the frolic begins. All the 
latest slang that has been washed ashore, 
comes into play. Sometimes, alas ! a tinge of 
profanity is heard. Are all of them in a 
frisky mood always ? No ! Braced up 
against a tree-box, or half resting on a bench, 
you can spot, here and there, where the 
shade is most kindly, a little dirty face ” 
buried in a small paper, whose margins are 
well colored by thumbing, and whose creases 
conform perfectly with the inside pocket of 
the young reader. 

He nervously bites his finger-tips. He is 
unconscious of the frolic about him. His 
eyes widen as though under the spell of a 
9 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


strange stimulant. Ah ! go it, Roxy/’ come 
the whispered words. Leap the chasm, and 
escape, you can do it. Ah, you landed. 
Grab yer knife! Whip up yer steed! 
Faster, 0, faster for the sake of your loved 
one, Bessie, who stands on yonder cliff call- 
ing to you, and shrieking to the huntsmen 
to come and save you. See the gleaming 
eyeballs of Red Buck ” the Indian chief, 
as he crouches to strike. Steady, aim, fi 

Hey, Jimmie, de whistle blowed. Hurry 
up or you’ll be fired.” What does all this 
mean ? Don’t you see ? My friend Jimmie 
was finishing the story in Nick Carter’s ” 
series, Brave Roxy, or All for Bessie.” He 
was watching for the whiz of the shot that 
was to finish the bloodthirsty chief. He 
was as callous to his surroundings, as one 
doped with a drug, and his dreams were just 
as weird. When the piping voice of his 
chum woke him painfully to the fact that he 
still lived in a miserable prosaic world, and 
that his little fingers must be stained again 
with carmine dye, his heart indeed fell below 
the freezing point. 

As young Jimmie folded up carefully his 
treasure, and tucked it away in his pocket 
with a sigh, I said to myself, ‘^What a pity 
that such a bright mind as Jimmie’s, should 
be bent upon following the fooHsh fantasies 
10 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


of the nickel novel, when he would as readily 
take to reading religious tales, soothing alike 
to soul and heart — were they only served 
up according to his liking. So I said to 
myself, ‘^Here goes,’’ with God’s help, and 
for His sake alone, I am going to weave 
some little dramas for Jimmie, and such as he. 

There is something solidly good in every 
human heart if we can only dig within and 
set it in motion. This applies to those 
hardened by rough contact with the world, 
and with its vice. Perforce, there is some- 
thing noble in every young boy’s and girl’s 
heart, if we can but gently sing the song to 
wake those dormant qualities into life. 
Pshaw ! Why should I indulge in figure ? 
Every young lad and lassie who toils, is 
good. If there is badness in an individual 
case, the badness is only negative. See how 
the little glistening eyes of Mickey, that 
peek at you from the blackened face, will 
grow even more lightsome, and that honest 
little face spread into a smile, when he sees 
the priest come along as the push ” is hust- 
ling out of the factory gate. 

There is something hidden behind that 
demure Good morning, Fadder,” that is 
truly pathetic to the priest, — whether it is in 
the tone, or in the train of sentiment it 
awakens — I know not. 

XI 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


I am going to try to appeal to the romantic 
side of Jimmie and his chums, at the same 
time push into his thirsty soul some cooling 
draughts of good advice. I will try to act 
even as the cook, who makes the jelly-cake, and 
between each insipid layer, spreads the jam 
so that the enticing composite cannot be 
resisted. Between the heavy layers of truth 
I will try — clumsy cook that I am — to lay 
the jam on good and thick, so that no little 
rogue will put on a wry face when asked to 
take a bite. 

I — not I, — but Holy Mother Church, wants 
the heart of the young toiler close to her 
own, nor will she rest till she holds it. 
Being a captain in Her Army, I am going 
to lay siege to the hearts of all young 
workers, nor will I surrender my pen till I 
have made them all capitulate. No little 
limbs will be hurt by my cannonading, I as- 
sure you. So, here I begin, invoking with 
all my heart, the Divine Son of God — who 
at one period of His earthly life was a little 
toiler at Nazareth — to come to my aid by 
His Grace. 

Fred C. O’Neill. 


12 


i ' 

CONTENTS. 


PAoa 

The Scrap 15 

What Happened to the Jins 33 

The Wanderings of Agnes 50 

The Young Cavalier 67 

“Skinny and Freckles” 86 

Wrecks 107 

Jerry’s Glorious Run 124 

The Prince and the Lambs 143 

Paddy and his Dog 161 

The History op Rashna 178 

Ginggob and Gumalub the Wicked Jins 197 

Chodorlahomar, the Good Giant 214 

Dan Pike’s Adventure 232 

The Triumph of Ecclesie 252 

The War of the Ants 270 

How Nibick and Slats Saved the Country 288 

The Upheaval in Animaldom 304 

How Muzma was Changed 321 

What Paprika the Imp Did 340 

The Old School-House 357 

The Emerald Isle 372 

The Problem 386 


13 









SHOKT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILEE8. 


Ube “Scrap.” 

WE MUST FIGHT AGAINST THE SPIRIT OF THE 
WORLD. 

Dat’s Timmy Reilley, and he’s de best 
^ scrapper ’ on de block ! ” This was the 
dainty bit of news that was handed to me 
one evening as I was wending my way 
homeward after attending a sick-call. It 
came, of course, in response to a query I 
had put to a stubby little chap with eyes of 
lustrous black, that are the blessed heritage 
only of the children of Sunny Italy. My 
little informant stood on the curb-stone with 
his hands pushed into his pockets, and his two 
luminous orbs riveted on a group of youngsters 
that was gathered on the other side of the 
street. 

They were not a boisterous bunch, by any 
means, rather the opposite ; remarkably 
quiet. They seemed all absorbed in the 
words which the young brave in the hub of 
the crowd was spinning out to them, in well 
15 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


measured syllables. Never a smile flitted 
across any of their darling little faces, not 
one stirred. They were charmed evidently 
by the sight alone of their idol, whose very 
name was an inspiration. 

So that’s Timmy Reilley, is it ? ” said I 
to the little acquaintance, who, during the 
painful silent space, had stood as rigid as a 
cigar-Indian, with somewhat the same facial 
expression. Yep ! ” — he snapped at me — 

and he’s all right too, see ! ” as his voice 
switched into a slower track. He’s got a 
right that could knock de block off’n any 
feller what ’ud tackle ’im, but I think I kin 
lick ’im ! ” 

Well ! well ! ” said I in amazement — 
not catching on the instant, the gist of the 
word block.” My wonderment was now 
really excited. Why shouldn’t it be ? Why 
should I not take a peep at this marvel of 
the neighborhood ? So I rolled up my coat- 
collar, and stole softly over to where the 
hypnotized coterie stood. The electric light 
above our heads did me a service just here, 
for which I shall ever be grateful. It sizzled 
and buzzed, then dimmed so low, that it 
threw about us a twilight that made the 
scene more tragic, and, incidentally, let me 
slip in unobserved. 

Gray, as the light grew, I could catch the 
16 


THE “SCRAP. 


contours of several faces, nearest to me, and 
on the spot, I recognized most of them. 
Never mind their names. My eyes fell with 
awe upon the diamond in the middle. It 
was, forsooth, Timmy Reilley, my ideal, and 
what is more (I hlush not to tell it), he was 
one of my choir-boys. 

Don’t yer be afraid o’ him, Timmy. 
G’wan, we’re wid ye. Give ’im yer upper in 
de slats, an’ it’s all over in a jiffy ! ” Every 
single tot in the crowd put in a tip of this 
character. It ain’t no sin, Timmy, when a 
fellow insults you ! ” came the soothing 
sentence from a little pale chap with a 
piccolo ” voice on the skirt of the crowd, 
whom I recognized (after squinting for a 
moment), as Johnnie Riordan, alias Pious.” 
But to all this fusillade of goading, Timmy 
Reilley remained as callous as a mile-post. 
At length his spirit began to waver under 
the stimulus of so much loyalty. He 
lowered his good-natured face, in real charm- 
ing boy-modesty, and drolled, as he kept 
tapping his toe on the ground, No, 
fellers, I d’ wanter scrap, — besides, Fadder 
Kelly says its a sin. Anyhow I’d be 
ashamed to let me sister know I’d punch a 
ginnie.” 

Dat’s all right, Timmy, but in our parish, 
de priest says, if a feller keeps a dogin’ yo’, 

2 17 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and tryin’ to lead yo’ into what’s wrong, 
just zung ’im in de eye.” This periodic 
spurt was accompanied with the most elo- 
quent facial expressions. When the little 
tempter had finished, he threw his cap into 
the air as if to rouse the awakening enthu- 
siasm to the highest pitch. He was the 
member from the fourth ward. 

Just here, the electric light, so accommo- 
dating heretofore, suddenly woke up as if to 
hear, and so, threw its brilliancy into each 
of our faces. I stepped back to the dark 
side of the street again to watch, with the 
interest of a scientist, merely, what terrible 
calamity would crop out of all this plot- 
hatching.” As I skipped over to where I 
had at first stood, my blood was almost 
chilled, forsooth, as my excited gaze fell 
upon the face of the indomitable little 
Toney.” Some deep dark plot, was stir- 
ring his soul. His eyes shot their glare 
over to where Reilley and his heelers ” 
stood. The glare, however, was not one of 
base passion, there was just the kindlier light 
of fervent ambition. The young Spartan, 
never raised his face to me. 

Say, son,” said I, cautiously laying my 
hand on his kinky ” black hair, you 
seem interested in the doings of those young 
fellows over there, don’t you ? ” Sure I 
18 


THE “ SCRAP.” 


am/’ came the snappy reply. De’re put- 
tin’ Keilley up to come over and do me, an’ 
I wish he’d come an’ try. Some of my 
chums is over dere teasin’ ’im on.” Now, 
straightening up, and talking in a stronger 
tone, Toney went on. I’ve bin after dat 
feller Reilley fer a long time. You see I 
work in the pencil factory, and Timmy goes 
to de school ’cross de way. No school kid 
should be champeen over a working boy — 
Do you tink so ? ” he queried, turning his 
flushed little face up to me. Well,” I 
stammered a prudent reply, I’m no judge, 
Toney.” “ Well, I am, den,” he snapped, 
and I’ll lick dat kid to-night or I’m no 
good.” 

I could see now, that the atmosphere was 
getting stuffy. The ominous clouds of war, 
were beginning to roll over the heavens. 
So I mused to myself, it was high time to 
reveal to the little world my identity, and 
with one masterly sweep, to disperse the 
belligerent forces. I had not time, how- 
ever, to formulate effectively, any plan of 
action, before the vision at my side left me, 
— I saw a cloud of dust rise. I heard the 
nervous patter and shuffle of feet upon the 
pavement, and, as I caught the piping yell 
from fifty excited voices, Gee, Timmy, 
here he comes,” — the two forces clashed, 
19 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and great was the clash thereof ! What did 
I do ? Did I break up the encounter ? 
No, no, not a bit (you’ll like that, boys — 
won’t you ?) I skipped across the street 
nimbly, as Toney had done. I said to my- 
self, “ Here, in this secluded street, yea, on 
this very spot, am I to see the verification, 
of a truism I ever held, That right must 
prevail.” So — I looked on. 

The ring was perfectly formed. The two 
little fists of each scrapper were pumping 
away, like the two piston rods of an engine. 

0, how refreshing to see the boyish spirits 
let loose ! 0, the music of their shrill voices,” 
I mused to myself. What splendid men 
you lads will make some day ! ” and so 
will. 

Give it to ’im, Timmy ! ” Let ’im have 
yer left ! ” Give ’im de solar ! ” came 
from a lad who wore specs. He calls 
your poor ole mudder names, Timmy,” was 
the burden of a cry that rang above all 
through the air, and your f adder he calls 
^ gimpy,’ ’cause he’s lame. Hook ’im, 
Timmy ! Put him out o’ de business,” was 
the grand finale, joined in by all. All this 
while, as you may conjecture, Timmy had 
been doing excellent work with upper 
cuts, hooks, and jabs,” as his blows were 
termed by the little gamins. It was now, 
20 








f •» 







SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


forsooth, time for a finale, for Toney’s face 
looked as if it had been massaged by an 
amateur, while Reilley’s wore the smile that 
wouldn’t come off. 

Timmy, just here, ceased his rapid-fire 
blows. He stepped back a pace, measured 
his antagonist well, from tip to toe, and said 
with a hiss between his teeth, Yes, and 
you’re the feller dat’s always sayin’ nasty 
words to the girls. There ! you filthy t’ing,” 
as his little fists cHnched harder, take dat ! ” 
he closed in quickly, and w'ith a masterly 
short arm jolt ” laid Toney’s stubby form 
flat on the cobbles.” 

The shrill shout that met this feat, was 
truly deafening. Hats were thrown into the 
air. Shrill whistles were blown, and pande- 
monium reigned generally. Timmy’s sup- 
porters hugged one another in sparkling joy, 
and to be sure bestowed a few caresses on 
himself. 

The great things, rhetorical and otherwise, 
that sailed round the victor’s head now, were 
enough almost to intoxicate him — but they 
didn’t. ^‘He’s a regular Jeffries ! ” sang the 
wise lad with the specs, again. Dat’s right, 
Reilley’s champeen yet, hurray! We’re 
proud o’ ye, Timmy 1 ” his little chums sang 
out. To tell the truth, I was too, and I 
couldn’t help showing it. I quickly rolled 
22 


THE » SCRAP.’ 


down my collar, and elbowing my way into 
the group, I threw my arms around Timmy’s 
neck, and lifted him on to the sidewalk. 

My ! the magic of this move ! The stam- 
pede ! Cheese it, fellers ! It’s de priest ! ” 
rang out like a note of alarm, and like a 
routed army I saw the little legs dusting ” 
away behind barrels and ash-cans. I held 
Timmy tight, however. 

Here was my chance to make a lasting im- 
pression, and to endear myself to the little 
hearts forever. So, I called out in a way 
that most of the lads had been used to hear- 
ing, Say ! you boys ! Come here, I’m not 
going to scold you ! Want to tell you 
something.” I was pleased, beyond my 
telling, when I saw that all, instantly, sur- 
rendered, and crept back Hke little mice to 
my side. I now unrolled Timmy from under 
my coat. His good face looked up into mine, 
with a strange mood upon it. Little tears 
were stealing into his blue eyes, — Father,” 
he said softly as a little girl, I’m sorry you 
caught me scrappin’ — I didn’t want to fight, 
Toney teased me on.” Yes, Fadder, it was 
Toney’s fault, honest,” chimed in the little 
chorus of friends. 

Without a word at first, I raised my hand 
for silence, and when I smiled, it was enough, 
one youngster spoke out. Ah ! Fadder’s 
23 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


glad wot Timmy licked the ginnie ! ” Well, 
although I really was (for Toney was a bad 
boy), I didn’t say so. 

Was our friend Reilley bruised or black- 
ened? Not a bit. With my handkerchief 
I sapped the beads of perspiration from the 
flushed brow of the victor, saying, as I did, 
a few kind words to make the little Trojan 
smile. 

Hully smoke ! shouted the meagre lad 
with specs again. Where’s the ginnie 
scooted to ? ” No one seemed to know, how- 
ever, in fact, no one seemed to care much. 
Such, alas ! is the fate of a loser. 

I could not now, with strict decorum, leave 
the merry little fellows to themselves, and I 
was not ashamed to be seen in their company. 
So we walked along like a triumphal proces- 
sion toward the park, I, the while, drinking 
in the merry chatter of the little rogues. In 
less than five minutes I hearkened to fifteen 
difPerent versions of how Reilley ’s knock 
out” was delivered. We had, by this time 
reached the enticing glare, that came from 
the well-lighted windows of Sturken’s candy- 
store. Here, we entered, and without much 
ceremony, took up all the vacant chairs. I 
draw the curtain at this period. The final 
scene in this melodrama, can be better im- 
agined than painted. 


THE “SCRAP.- 


Many true heroes, have passed on to their 
tombs, without having their names engraved 
on the Scroll of Immortals.” So, I fancy, 
Timmy Reilley will move along into the 
darksome shades, without this busy world 
pausing to cast at his stately figure, even a 
passing glance. However, my young friend 
is modest of heart as well as brave, and so 
he will not care. In his own little world, I 
know, he will he looked to with pride by his 
chums, until the advancing years, shall come 
gently and scatter them all afar through the 
world, amongst new faces, and strange scenes. 
I will ever think well of Timmy and be his 
friend. Let me tell you now, his prowess as 
a fighter extends also to his spiritual interests. 
He is a boy who is just as prompt in knock- 
ing down an unchaste fantasy, as he was in 
laying low the insulter of his good parents. 
Therefore he is a two-sided champion. He 
never lets the devil parley with him a mo- 
ment, but on the instant, with a stroke of his 
spiritual arm, he sends him flying in dismay. 

This opens up naturally a fair question. 
How do you boys and girls stand in reference 
to the allurements of the world ? Are you 
quick in brushing them aside, or do you 
play the coward and allow them to bully 
you ? Tell me ! 

Your childhood fights, remember, soon 
25 


SHORT TALKS TO YOHNG TOILERS. 


pass away. After a few years, you will lock 
arms in friendly embrace with the very one 
whom you may have licked’’ well as a 
boy. There is one enemy, however, with 
whom you will have to fight as long as you 
live, and that is the world, with its manifold 
temptations. Its spirit is ever at war with 
the spirit of Christ, for He has said, Love 
not the world, nor the things that are in the 
world. If any man love the world, the love 
of the Father is not in him.” Yet how this 
same ease-loving world, like a wanton 
naiad, calls to you ceaselessly yet softly: 
“ Come to me, all ye who would sip the cup 
of pleasure. Come, follow me. Come, you 
young sons and daughters of toil, give free 
rein to those desires that surge within the 
walls of your hearts. Come and see those 
sensual delights that lurk behind the curtain 
which Faith bids you dare not behold ! 
Come, lay mourning aside, follow me, my 
pathway is strewn with roses. Sunshine plays 
through my fields. Perfume lurks within the 
folds of my tresses. I can give you the sight 
of those wanton things, that your Master 
would have you shun. Come, break down the 
barriers that hold your yearnings in check. 
Dance forth smiling. The wine is flowing, 
music fills the air.” 

Yes, 0 wicked world, what you say is quite 
26 


THE “ SCRAP.' 


true. But deceive me not. Your pleasures 
are poison, Your perfume turns quickly to 
stench ; your wine gladdens, then deals death ; 
your day passes, then night comes, — the night 
of black despair that must steal over the soul 
that has turned its back on its God. The 
voice that sang, soon must moan. The 
flowers that breathed out their goodness, soon 
must wither. The eyes that were lit with 
lust must close in death. The soul that was 
sated with sin, will be buried in hell. No ! 
no ! tempting world, I shall not be your 
disciple. When you whisper to me, I shall 
look beyond to the thousands of souls you 
have already wrecked so mercilessly. No! 
no I away with you! You will have no part 
with virtue ; you laugh it to scorn, you call 
it folly. But I am wise with the wisdom of 
Christ, and still stand loyal to His banner, 
and so, even to my dying hour. For all 
that is in the world, is the concupiscence of 
the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the 
pride of life.’’ 

Do you know now, little friends, I feel 
somewhat downcast, that I let you know 
that the world is really your enemy, and that 
you must light against its enticement, as long 
as your little hearts beat. But pshaw ! I 
know you’ll be brave and true, and not grow 
to love the frail things in the world too 
27 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


fondly. The battle is a hard one, ’tis true, 
harder far than the one Timmy Reilley had 
with his young tempter, for it is to last longer; 
hut the hope of victory, and the all-power- 
ful help of God’s grace, will make it quite 
easy. 

There is another voice that sweeps through 
the land. It is not so blatant a voice as 
that of the world, while its tones reach the 
inmost fibres of the soul. It is soft and low 
like the sighing of an evening wind that 
saunters through the tree-tops on its way 
home. It is the voice of your Lord Beloved. 
He cries to you, little working children, 

Come, follow me ! My yoke is sweet, and my 
burden light, and you shall find rest for your 
souls.” Ah ! that is what we want who labor 
so hard — ^^rest and peace.” A Saint once 
called Our Saviour a sweet tempter ” and 
so He is. He wants you little toilers to 
follow Him. But He will not coerce you. 
How different His terminal from that of the 
worldly tempter ! His pleasures pass not, with 
the dying of day. They live through all 
eternity. 

To which voice, then, shall you hearken ? 
Ah, forsooth, I need not ask. I know. Resist 
the soft sensual whisperings of the world, 
for You are dead to it, your life is hidden 
with Christ.” You are made up of two 
28 


THE “ SCRAP/ 


forces : — body and soul. The body would 
follow corruption always. The soul yearns 
and thirsts for God. They have vowed to 
oppose each other unto death, which one will 
you help? The soul, I am sure, since its 
life is to be eternal. 0 then make it sturdy 
each day, you little toilers, by feeding it on 
the food of angels, and by soothing it with 
the dew of prayer. Then, fear not the temp- 
ter ; you will never be overcome in the fray 
as long as you tarry now and then to slake 
your thirst at the fountain of grace. ^^He 
that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood 
abideth in me, and I in Him.” Who then 
can tease us away into danger, if we abide in 
Christ ? Just another thought and I have 
finished. 

They say the most admirable feature in a 
true soldier, is the promptness with which 
he acts. Ah, dear little friends, in temp- 
tation this same trait, must characterize your 
every movement. Begone, Satan ! ” you 
must say, on the instant of enticement, and 
draw your spiritual sabre to strike down the 
demon, who is your mortal enemy. Why do 
I bid you strive ceaselessly, to be the victors 
over temptation ? First, to merit heaven, I 
fight then to get to the gateway of my true 
home. Surely it is worth fighting for. 

It is a thrilling thing, to read in the story- 
29 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


books, about the young soldier, who fought 
so well, for the glory of his standard. He 
fell at last, as a lance was thrust through his 
heart. It is at the close of day, and the flag 
under whose shadow he fell, lowers gently 
and folds him in its embrace, as he is borne 
to a hero’s grave. You are fighting, little 
toilers, under the holiest of emblems. The 
Cross of your Master. Your enemy is not 
one, but legion. Your battle is to last for 
many years. When you fall, not into sin, 
but from fatigue in fighting ; when your eyes 
close, as the dusk of evening comes, your 
little limbs will be folded, not in a national 
scarf, that will fray and wither, but you will 
be folded in the arms of angels, who will 
bear you away into a land that knows no 
conflict. 

The fight, then, against the world and its 
allurements, is on. Angels are watching the 
conflict. Christ our general, has conquered 
the world. He has set us an example. He 
went through far more than we can be called 
to suffer. Now it is our turn, and all minis- 
tering spirits keep silence, and look on. 
0, let not your foot slip, or your eye be 
false, or your attention flagging. Keep a 
good heart. Be bold. Draw not back. 
Whatever temptations come to you from the 
Y^prld^ tbp flesh, or the devil, though the 
3Q 


THE “ SCRAP.’ 




hours of conflict be lonely, 0 children of a 
heavenly Father, he not afraid. Quit your- 
selves like little braves, and when it is over, 
Christ will receive you to Himself, and your 
hearts shall rejoice, and your joy no man 
shall take from you. 


31 


TRabat bappeneb to tbe Jins* 


CONFESSION. 

In the long ago, before history was made, 
or fly-paper invented, good Mother Earth, 
had as tenants, a crowd of flashy little people 
called Jins. From all accounts, they were 
model little tenants too. They squatted 
together in the valley of Toe, which used to 
be located on a promontary that looked 
across the southern stretch of land into the 
^gean Sea. You must know that smart 
folks have recently changed the map, for one 
reason or another, so, I find that Jin-land is 
not noticed any more. Shame ! However, 
they had while they lasted, a marvellous 
career, these little folks did. I rather think 
no more Jins are living, they all having died 
of chagrin, when they learned that their land 
was not considered worthy of a place in the 
map-book. Why don’t book-makers be fair 
anyway ? 

Well, as I was saying, everything was 
going along nicely in the world at the time. 
Work was good. Everyone wore nice 
32 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


clothes. The most delicious of viands hung 
from the trees, and wine gurgled from the 
public fountains. 0 felicity ! I forgot to 
state, that night never threw her black arms 
around Mother Earth in those days. In fact 
you may as well know it, there was no night. 
Darkness, you know, came only with sin. 
Bed-makers eked out a poor living then, be- 
cause only the sick and dying used their 
wares. 

Well, as I was about to say, these Jins, 
who were very small fellows, no taller than 
a peanut, got the roving fever one day (this 
seizes some of us folks now and then). They 
were bent on seeing everything that was 
worth seeing. So, they fashioned a ‘ buz- 
zuma’ or balloon, from the skins of five 
thousand mice. What genius they had ! 
Gallant little chaps that they were, they in- 
vited their sweethearts with them. These 
all coyly said in response, ‘‘ 0, we should 
be delighted ! ” with the accent on the ^ de.’ 
The day for the trip came at last, and so the 
young folks assembled in the hanging gar- 
dens of ^^Fuzz,’’ many of which the sketch- 
books aver, still exist. The maidens looked 
real stunning in their gowns of ^ near-silk ’ 
overlaid with ^renny’ lace. One of the 
Jins, the boss I suppose, now pulled ofP his 
curved-toed slipper and held it up, and blew 
3 33 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


through it. It gave forth a sound just like 
a hunter’s horn. Scarcely more than a min- 
ute flew by, when the air-ship sailed before 
them like a phantom, 0 dear, the little 
maidens became all flurried. The polite little 
Jins, asked them whether they would like to 
journey to Guab-land or Dragon-land or 
whither, but they, just as little maidens 
now^adays, couldn’t quite make up their 
minds, what they wanted. So they tossed 
the dice, and all finally agreed, that they 
should trip to the North-pole and take out 
their tiny pocket-knives and carve their 
names in that old pole that has been ever 
since a hard place for any one to reach. 

The voyagers started off chatting and 
singing like kids ” on a sleigh-ride. The 
little old tad who ran the machine let her 
out,” full tilt, because after consulting his 
watch he said they were slicing the ether at 
the rate of one hundred glings, or miles, a 
minute. Speedy — wasn’t it ? Thus far 
everything went along smoothly as could be, 
when suddenly a devilish uproar began. 
What, think you, caused it? Just this: 
Old Sol being twitted about his frequent 
bibbling, and sleeping over, became riled, 
and quoth he, I’ll show you I’m no dead 
one,” so he hopped out of his fleecy bed, and 
skipped up the ladder, and said to the mild, 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


good-natured moon without any adieu, 

Come ! skip : I’m going to let them all 
see ” — with this he jostled the daughter of 
night/’ who instantly flared up in a way that 
was astounding to see. I’ll stay just where 
I am,” the silvery maid gave answer. You 
shall not,” growled the Sun with his face be- 
ginning to redden ominously with rage. W ell, 
it’s needless to picture this melodrama of the 
sky any further. You know how all spats 
end. Blows now fell thick and fast on the 
heads of the two combatants. Mercy ! all 
the elements of nature seemed to be hypno- 
tized into a quarrel. You have often seen 
how a row between two youngsters very 
easily expands into a general engagement, 
and little fists get flying in all directions. 

Just so was it with the elements. Every- 
thing got twisted, even on our planet. Men 
began to walk sideways. Birds flew round 
a ring in a daffy fashion. Water ran up 
hill. The mice chased the cats. 0, horror ! 
Finally the earth itself, by a mighty contor- 
sion, threw itself inside out, just as you would 
twist an old coat. I suppose Mother Earth 
did this to try and quell the disturbance. Of 
course the poor little Jins with their lassies, 
in the mouseskin air-ship, were pulled in by 
suction, to the centre of the earth. 0, how 
frightened they were ! How they pined for 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the light again ! They kept up the piteous 
cry, 0 please let us out, let us go back to 
the blue sky, to our verdant hills ! to our 
scented water.” 

Hideous little fire-flies, like darning 
needles, shot clear through their tortured 
brains. The wizzened chap, who had run 
the air-ship at the rate of a hundred ^ glings ’ 
a minute, now stood forth in that subterra- 
nean cavern, and filling his chest, said, 0 
afflicted ones, if the great Allah will accept 
the gift and liberate us, and put Mother 
Earth’s disjointed form aright, and cease the 
nebulae and planets from warring. I will lay 
down my poor body in sacrifice. 

0 benign one,” echoed back a sweet voice 
of a maiden Jin, it is not at all necessary, 
that thou shouldst throw away thy life. 
Who then could run our mouseskin air-ship”? 
Here, loud applause broke the air, and little 
Miss Jin became somewhat flurried. She 
caught at the thread of his thought, however, 
and continued : I am, know ye, the daugh- 
ter of Arphaxad, of him whose exalted work 
it was to stalk the sky, and keep the stars 
a twinkling through the night.” (I suppose 
he was like our modern night-watchmen.) 
^^As he passed into the shades, he bade 
me come to him. He embraced me, and pull- 
ing the nail from his left thumb, said : ‘ O, 
36 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


my flimsy offspring, ere I pass into the shades 
of death, take this nail, made sacred by the 
clasp of Venus, and should you, |at any 
time be in peril, take it between your little 
fingers, then lay it on your left temple. 
Think the thoughts you fain would see trans- 
mitted to Janus, the liberator, and instantly 
he will send back into your perplexed head, 
what to do, to reach safety’ ” Wonderful ! 
Marvellous ! ” all present gasped. 

“ Have you the magic nail ? ” asked the 
old man of the motor. Yea, verily, I have,” 
made answer the maiden Jin, and taking 
from her side, her chatelaine bag, she took 
out the mystic nail, and all hearts were, on 
the instant, lifted to hope. 

Pray not so much, but act ; we are sti- 
fling here,” squeaked a Jin, with a pinched 
voice. This was an imprudent interjection, 
for be it known always, when maidens large 
or small begin to speak, they must be heard, 
^^ad libitum.” This puny maid with the 
lucky nail, now raised her hand to her ear, and 
with the mysterious article placed between 
her fingers, she thought and wished, as she 
had promised to do. All stood by with pant- 
ing breasts, and eyes staring in expectancy. 
^^Does he answer? Ring him up again,” 
said a little wag, who should have been post- 
poned to our day. Yes, yes,” said the one of 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


diminutive form. hear his raspy voice/’ 
all the while blinking her eyes nervously as 
if hope were waking up. He says he must 
call a ^ peace conference ’ of all the orbs in the 
valley of Hagi, and see if things can’t be 
straightened out^ — that is the very word, 
“ straightened out.” 

Well, it didn’t take long to do the straight- 
ening surely, for not more than two moments 
flew by, before old Mother Earth began to 
groan and grunt, in a monster effort to get 
her right side out. She succeeded too, right 
well. 

When the little prisoners were again in 
the external ether, they clapped hands for 
joy, hopped into the basket of the mouse- 
skin air-ship, and soared to the heavens. 
One of the tiniest Jins, just here inquired, 
I wonder how the ‘ scrap ’ made out over- 
head ? ” He had sporting leanings, I am 
sure. All looked up at his bidding, and 
sure enough. Old Sol ruled the roost. Of 
course his broad face didn’t wear the pacific 
grin it had when his last photo was taken, 
yet he looked quite contented. The only 
facial difference was, that under his left 
optic, there was a dark blue ridge of semi- 
circular curvature. This (so the man at 
the wheel said), was caused by the left fist 
of Mr. Moon coming into forceful rising 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


contact with the aforesaid optic. To be 
sure, this gave great satisfaction. Still the 
majority, I trow, were pleased to see the 
old lord of day at his post again, despite his 
many weaknesses. 

The old engineer now let out the full force 
of the motor in the mouseskin air-ship, and 
she scooted even faster than before, knowing, 
I suppose, that she was on the homeward 
tack. 

The blue waters of the ^gean Sea were 
soon sighted by the little Jin with the tele- 
scope. All now, sweetened by joy, sang the 
national anthem called Negutszi,” which 
is a parallel to our ^^Home again.” For 
many years after this greatest of all erup- 
tions, old Mother Earth went about her 
business very serenely. 

Now the Jins are all dead and, as far as 
I know, I am the first to bring this wonder- 
ful experience of theirs before the world. 

You, young toilers, are my little Jins. 
Now and then, perhaps, by your foolish 
flights into dangerous places, you become 
hurried into the dark ,cave of mortal sin. I 
call it a dark cave, because it shuts out divine 
grace. The story states, that the poor little 
men and maidens were dreadfully frightened 
in this subterranean cavern. They pleaded 
tearfully to the great spirit for light. They 
39 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


craved to look upon the blue sky as of yore, 
to hear the song of the birds, to see the hills 
of their native country. 

Alas, young friends, when you, by mortal 
sin, cast yourselves off, from the sunlight of 
God’s grace, do you pine to receive it again ? 
Are your consciences pained by the presence 
of sin ? Do you yearn to live again in the 
sweet smile of your Lord Beloved ? 0, I 

am sure you do. I cannot believe, however, 
that this painful estrangement occurs very 
often. Your little hands and brains are kept 
too busy, you have no time to entertain sin. 
However, there may be some little soul, fol- 
lowing these lines, who feels in his or her 
heart the bitterness of sin, and yet who fears 
to go to confession. 0 how foolish is the 
child, who would live on in such an unhappy 
state ! Why do you stand without in the 
wintry blasts, that chill you to the marrow, 
when your Dear Lord tarries at the door 
of His abode, looking tenderly out into the 
world, to catch the sound of the bleating 
lambs in distress, and to warm their stiffened 
limbs by folding them in the mantle of His 
love. 

Our Tender Lord, ’tis true, is no longer 
amongst us. We cannot run after Him 
along the highways, and call to Him, to 
hearken to our plea. 0, but we know (fer- 
40 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


vent little Catholics that we are), that He 
has left a House of Peace ” wherein we may 
enter, and sigh our sins away, and be given 
again, the robe of innocence. 

Christ, verily, has consecrated one, the 
priest, to carry on His mission of mercy, 
to lift the hand of pardon, as He did of 
yore ; to whisper the soothing words, Go, 
sin no more.” 0 you little toilers, I wish 
I could get you to love the confessional 
and to leave that foolish shame and fear, 
which the devil slips into your souls. So 
far in life, I know, your souls have not been 
defiled by vicious sins. Still in your weak- 
ness, you may have paused to listen to the 
tempter, and so have been enticed to do 
something that brought the blush of shame 
to your young cheeks. Then you recall how 
your soul passed into sadness. You were 
not as ^ chipper ’ with your companions as 
you were, before you sinned. Your gloomy 
spell lasted so long, that some little wag 
beside you teased you by asking, “ What’s 
the matter with your face, Timmy, is it 
frozen ? ” This was a cruel taunt, I know. 
Through the day, your heart was a lump of 
lead. Something like an unseen grasp 
choked off your laughter. Like the mur- 
derer, who, tortured with remorse, at last 
tells of his crime, just to unburden his de- 
41 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


lirious mind, you felt on the point of saying, 

0 boys, if I only could tell you how 
crushed I feel, I can’t be merry. My mind 
is a hell.” 

Now, here is where I want you to think. 
Your Loving Master has made up a prescrip- 
tion to fit this very soul-ache. This is con- 
fession. Confession is to a sin-laden soul 
what a soothing powder is to a headache. 
It quiets and cools the soul. It is sad to see 
how many boys and girls drift away from 
confession, as soon as they go to work ! 
And yet, this is the very time of your lives 
when you need spiritual tonics more than at 
any other period. When you were at school, 
you belonged to societies, that led you to the 
Font of Grace every month. You had, too, 
the care of your gentle teachers, to warn you 
of your duties. Now, my little Trojans, you 
are left pretty much to yourself. Poor little 
lambs — I mean you — I wish I could do 
something to entice you into the confessional 
more regularly. I wish I could sink into 
your souls, once for all, the conviction that 
this is the great period of conflict for you. 
You read of gladiators locking arms in 
deadly conflict, and you are thrilled by the 
tale. In these years of your untrammelled 
youth, the great bout of your spiritual life is 
to be fought. If you are regular at your 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


confession and Holy Communion, now, 
through this decade, you will be the victors 
over temptation in years to come. You will 
pass on to the sterner decade of manhood 
and womanhood, triumphing over the base 
passions that crave your ruin. 

0, if I could, I would gladly devote my 
years to running about the country into the 
stores and factories wherein you young toilers 
work so hard, and I would din into your ears 
the cry : Come, boys and girls, follow me, 
it is time for your confession. Come, sip 
again of the font of joy.” I think most of 
you would follow me. Deny the fact we 
cannot, many of you youngsters, are very 
shaky about going to confession. Let me 
see if I can’t hitch a reason to this. First, 
shame plays a great part, in holding you aloof 
from your Master. This, no doubt, is gen- 
erated in your souls by an inborn modesty, 
and partly by the devil, who often exaggerates 
and swells up your poor little frailties, when 
in truth, they are only tiny faults, that have 
no mixture of malice at all. Now, I see a 
young tear-stained face before me and I catch 
the sigh : 0 Father, I have fallen into a 

dreadful sin. Thought of it brings burning 
shame to my cheeks, my little heart is fairly 
breaking when I recall that I have fallen to 
the level of some of the brutes. My sins are 
43 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


low and vile.’’ 0, stop your wailing and 
listen ! your Lord is speaking softly to you ; 
what is He saying : Dear little soul, you 
are sick, weakened by your tussle with the 
demon of lust. You have lowered your 
standard at his bidding, but why sit in gloom, 
by the lone roadside? Why spend the tears 
on despair, that you should give to contri- 
tion. Come to me, little sweetheart. Come, 
bury your fevered face in the folds of my 
garments, and cry yourself back to peace.” 
Isn’t Our Lord loving, and isn’t he gentle, 
with those even, who offend Him ? Isn’t 
He very like the shepherd so loving, who, 
even at dead of night, hearing the piteous 
bleating of a strayed lamb, rises up and, 
pushing the thorns and brambles aside, makes 
His way to the spot where the foolish little 
runaway lies torn and bleeding. He picks it 
up, and laying it to His bosom, says cooing 
things to it, that soon soothe it, and then He 
beguiles it into a restful slumber. 

Is this reference vague to you, little 
friends ? It shouldn’t be. As Chimmy ” 
would say ; Don’t you catch on ? ” The 
Lord is the last one to ply the lash to the 
back that is already heavily burdened, so, 
too, the priest. Christ’s messenger, yea, 
more, another Christ, stands by the confes- 
sional door and waits to catch your cry, H^ 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


pauses patiently for you to come to him and 
unburden your souls of the weight that so 
often makes you groan. You, little rascals, 
you, like the silly sheep of old, you kick up 
your heels and cavort oft amongst the shaggy 
rocks and brambles of the world until the 
poor shepherd, the priest, is forced betimes 
to go after you in the darkness and fetch you 
back to the House of Peace, the confessional. 

What is your second complaint you say 
that you fear. Whom do you fear ? the 
gentle Lord ? What an injustice you do 
Him. I am really tired pointing out to young 
fearful folks, like you, the fact, that Jesus, 
is the Friend of sinners,’’ as the Pharisees 
would style Him. He proved He was in word 
and in act. He defended the unfortunate 
girl whom the hypocrites would have stoned 
to death. He received Magdalen gently, 
and bade her weep no more. Yea, even 
when His thorn-covered head was so weak 
that He could scarcely raise it. He cast a 
loving glance on the penitent thief who had 
asked for mercy, and said : This day shall 
thou be with me in Paradise.” 

Jesus you cannot fear. No child ever did. 
Is it, then, the priest you are timid of? 
Surely not. Why does he leave home in 
the springtime of youth and journey off to 
strange lands to toil and fit himself for the 
45 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


priestly office ? Solely to save precious little 
hearts like yours from sin. Therefore, when 
on Saturday night he hears you come stealing 
to him like little mice on tiptoe, his soul is 
glad, because the object of his life’s desire 
is being fulfilled. 

You may say, Very good. Father, but 
some priests are awful cranky and I fear 
them.” Let us see ! Would you consider 
him a good doctor, who would come to visit 
your dying mother, and who would look 
coldly upon her face — you so love, and 
would scratch out a prescription, with a 
freezy air and then walk out? No, no, you 
would not, you would haul him over the 
coals,” for showing so little interest in the 
recovery of your beloved. 

Now, then, I have you. Would you 
consider him a*zealous priest, or one having 
your spiritual welfare at heart, who would 
harken listlessly to your tale of sin, and then 
say in a sleepy way, For your penance, say 
the beads once ” ? No — at such treatment 
you would step out of the box with a sigh — . 
and a heavy heart, fior you would say, Alas, 
Father don’t care whether I’m good or 
bad.” 

It is the priest that scolds you who loves 
you, — ’mark it well. Besides, you know 
as well as I, that often when your sins rested 
46 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


on your conscience, like fiery coals, how you 
went to some chum whom you trusted, and 
told him or her of your remorse. Why, 
then, do you have less confidence in the 
priest? 0 my young friends, be fair. 

The third cause of your staying away 
from confession — as you say — is, fatigue, 

0, I’m so tired on Saturday night I want 
to stay home and read the funny paper” — 
You picture to yourself a church dimly 
lighted, poorly heated — if it be winter. 
A long line of victims coursing painfully 
slow into the confessional. The low 
whisper of the penitents, with an occasional 
^ buzz,’ from the priest, is all that mars the 
stillness. You contrast all this, with your 
present environment — your comfortable kit- 
chen. Mother looking oyer the nice things 
she’s bought for Sunday’s dinner. Pop’s 
reading the paper aloud. Maggie is showing 
you her nice new hat. Outside, the night 
wind is moaning. The church is far ofP, 
you decide to put off confession,—” till next 
week ” 

0, what a shame ! If you had had a fight 
that day with your steady ” do you think 
you would let the darkness come over you 
without making up ? No, never ! If your 
little friend lived twenty blocks, you would 
go thither and clasp again the hand of 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOII.ERS. 


friendship. You offend your Lord by sin, 
not once but many, many times during 
the month, you slumber on — you rise, you 
toil again, all the while the breach between 
you and Him, is widening. Do you hear 
the voice of grace telling you to make up 
with Jesus ? If so, why do you turn a deaf 
ear to it ? Why do you quail at so small a 
sacrifice ? Remember this. He is now the 
Shepherd, the Friend of sinners ” if you 
will. After death, he will no longer wear 
the mantle of a shepherd. He will then be 
the relentless enemy of sinners, for He 
will cast them out from His sight forever. 

Now is the hour of mercy. After death 
Mercy will draw modestly aside, and Justice 
stern of visage, will rule. 0, be wise, my 
little toilers. Now is the acceptable time. 
Now is the hour of salvation.” 

Just like the lawyer, now, let me ^^sum 
up.” The confessional is a place wherein 
you are to land your soul-burdens, going 
away light-hearted and smiling. The priest 
Tis true, sits in the confessional, and he 
may be a little cranky at times, but look 
beyond him, above him, see in the dim light 
Jesus looking down upon you. Hear the 
low music of His voice : Go, sin no 

more.” Do not put off confession for a 
long while. Your little souls clamor for it as 


WHAT HAPPENED TO THE JINS. 


the thirsty child does for water. Make your 
confession most worthily, with sorrow for 
sin. Confession is to be the closing drama 
of each of our lives, yours and mine, such 
is my hope. Some of you careless little 
rascals are changed now. I fancy I hear 
you sing : 

“ Only to kneel in His Presence, 

Low down in the dust at His feet, 

In the peace of His solemn silence 
Unutterably sweet. 

Only to know He is waiting. 

Anxiously, patiently, there. 

To hear, and then lovingly answer 
The poorest and humblest prayer. 

Only to kneel in His Presence 
While our hearts are ready to break 
With sorrow for sinning and love for Him ! 
And all for His dear love’s sake. 

Only to kneel there imploring 
To be taken away from sin. 

Not from the fear of the punishment, 

But for fear of displeasing Him.” 






4 


49 


Ube Manbenngs of Hgnes* 


YOUTHFUL FOLLY. 

Agnes, my darling, do you want to 
break my heart, — do you want to send me 
sorrowing to an untimely grave ? Why do 
you treat me so ? Am I not good to you 
and kind? Since father died, I need your 
company more. Won’t you stay at home 
to-night ? Do not go to that dance. 
Don’t throw yourself into the way of sin.” 
Between sobs, these words came slowly, 
painfully, from a mother’s lips. She 
centered her tear-moist eyes the while, pas- 
sionately on the face of her daughter. The 
latter stood on the threshold, richly dressed, 
about to go out into the black night and 
deeper gloom of sin. The comely figure at 
the door paused, looked back on the mother. 
Her face twitched with emotion of conflict- 
ing passion. The hand that had been raised 
to push out the door, fell heavily to her side, 
and with a sigh, Agnes said, Mother, you 
are too strict with me. Other girls go to 
the dances, why not I ? Other girls receive 
50 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


the lavish affections of young men, why not 
1 ? ” Here, her speech was checked by a 
sudden flush of anger. This lit up her ex- 
pressive eyes. In a voice, that seemed to 
come from the dead, so deep and calm it was, 
the mother made answer, My dear, because 
others choose to speed on the road to ruin, 
there is no reason why you should.” Here, 
the saintly mother rose quickly to her feet, 
and with true dramatic feeling said, Agnes, 
I would rather see you dead at my feet, this 
moment, than see you go to that dance-hall 
to-night,” Surely these words stayed the 
wayward girl. No ! no ! they irritated her 
only the more. Passion will brook no hindr- 
ance. She glared at the pallid figure in the 
uncertain light, an instant, then said sharply. 
Well, Pm going.” The door swung out- 
ward, and the youthful figure swept into the 
night. The good mother stood, with eyes 
riveted on the door, as though at any 
moment, she expected to see some strange 
vision come from it. Each second, her gaze 
grew more troubled. Weird fantasies 
chased one another rapidly through her 
aching brain. At last her eyes closed, she 
passed her hand gently over her brow, then, 
fell heavily into the old arm-chair and wept 
bitterly. 

* * * * # 

51 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Along the street^ a comely figure in white 
hastened. She crossed the main avenue and 
turned quickly down a side lane, that, in 
many places, was dimly lighted. The day 
had been warm, and now a few merciful 
rain-drops were beginning to fall on the 
parched earth. Thunder, now and then, 
rolled in the distance like the deep diapason 
note of a mighty organ. Groups of coarse 
men were standing, here and there, smoking 
their pipes, and occasionally sending out 
shouts of profanity. Numerous old push- 
carts that had carried many sordid burdens 
during the day, were now backed into the 
gutter to rest till the morning. At the end 
of the lane, that seemed in the night like a 
tunnel, a red transparency threw its unholy 
glare out into the mist. About the doorway, 
chatting and rollicking, in an unlicensed 
way, tarried a group of young men and 
women. At last, some one caught sight of 
the figure in white hurrying through the 
crowd. 

Here she comes, ^ fellers,’ ” a lusty 
young voice shouted. Its vibration startled 
the peaceful night. In a moment, Agnes 
was swept into the hall by the wave of 
youthful admirers. The glare of the electric 
light nearly blinded her, the reflections ran 
along the slippery floor. The odor of cheap 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


cologne and opiated cigarettes, blended in the 
sickly atmosphere. 

The musicians now began blaring out a 
lively air, and the swirl was on. All thoughts 
of home and of workshops now faded from 
the memories of the young masqueraders, as 
a rainbow fades from the heavens in a day 
in June. The two-steps and lancers fol- 
lowed each other, in rapid succession. The 
shouts of laughter became more noisy. The 
cheeks of the maidens and the eyes of the 
young lads, became more flushed with an 
unholy fire. A lull came at last, and a rough- 
looking character, with blotchy face and 
unmusical voice, shouted that refresh- 
ments ” were ready. Again the wave of 
youth was put in motion. It swept into an 
inner room. All the while, the screeches of 
the girls and the shouts of the boys, became 
more unbounded. Many aproned waiters 
hurried hither and thither, in an endeavor to 
respond to the many calls for drink. No 
one dared refuse the proffered cup, — the cup 
that gladdens for an instant, only to bring 
misery to the soul later on. The shouts and 
loud laughter, now fought with the harsh 
music for supremacy. The former won. 
The hours were speeding by, too quickly for 
the young revellers. 

0; Agnes ! what surroundings you are in ! 

53 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


At your right a wanton lover sits, at your 
left a courtesan, a woman of the dens. You 
are as a captive dove in the paws of a tigress. 
Will you, too, fall? Alas ! 

Finally the youth with bloated face and 
watery eyes, roughly mounted a table and 
shouted with the same hingy voice : Ladies 
an^ gents, here’s a toast to de sweetest, de 
fairy-footed dancer of de bunch, Agnes — ” 
But the torrent of applause broke in before 
the unsteady speaker could round out his 
sentence. It lasted long, but finally died 
away. A young rounder ” who had kept 
his hat on through the whole evening, and 
who puffed incessantly at a cheap cigar, 
sprang to a chair and said with some attempt 
at nicety : What’s de matter wid Agnes 
singin’ us a song ? ” The cheering was 
again prodded into life, and Agnes ” be- 
came the burden of every cry. The figure in 
white sat motionless through all the turmoil. 

These vehement efforts seemed to have 
sapped some of the stamina out of the 
frolickers, for an ominous quiet settled down. 
Only the buzz of subdued conversation could 
be heard. Off in a dark corner, two faces 
came close together in earnest talk. One 
was fair and sweet. Innocence still lurked in 
the eyes. It was Agnes. The other was 
sallow, deeply lined, crafty, devilish, the eyes 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


were black and piercing. It was a strange ” 
young man. 

The passionate fire of the human heart is 
very like the flame that consumes. It glows 
fiercely when it does glow, but that fuel on 
which it feeds, lasts but a few moments. 
When the fuel is consumed, the fire lowers, 
cools, dies. The night was nearly spent. 
The gray dawn was creeping in rapid, fretful 
starts up the eastern heaven, as though it 
fain would hasten to disperse the scenes of 
sin. One by one, the drowsy lights flickered 
out. One by one, the tired revellers shuffled 
out into the awakening world. The spacious 
hall was left alone. 

# * * * * 

When a young woman, chaste as Agnes 
was, falls from grace, the earth shudders. 
The universe pauses its revolutions. Glad- 
ness withdraws from the soul like evening 
from the western sky Agnes met the gaze 
of her mother that morning unflinchingly. 
To all external evidences, she was the same 
dear child, whom the mother had clasped to 
her bosom the day before. Even now, the 
quivering lips pressed against the unfurrowed 
brow. Alas ! mother, you know not, your 
Agnes has betrayed her soul for a paltry 
gain. The guards of gold, that stood about 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


her pure soul, were beaten flat through the 
night. A merciless thief pilfered the jewel 
that makes maidenhood so holy, so sweet. 

For a few days, the wretched girl went 
to her shop as of yore, but each hour, the 
roses were fading from her cheeks, petal by 
petal. She now moaned the hours away, 
whereas formerly, she touched them gliding 
with her song. Her merry manner gave 
place to a powerful vacant stare. When 
night fell about her as a cloak, she was glad. 
Shame cannot brook the sunlight. When 
she fell on her knees, she prayed not, nor 
hoped: but despaired, yea, longed to die. 
She cursed the day she was born — yea, cursed 
the mother that bore her into life. 

* * # * * 

He who robbed Agnes of her jewel of soul, 
was now standing by the gate of her little 
home. The despairing girl seemed to feel 
the influence of his hypnotic eyes. She has- 
tened from her room with no word of adieu 
for her fond mother. She went, like Judas, 
out again into the night. She heard the 
laughter of her companions ripple along the 
quiet street. It grew faint by the moment, 
then died. Soon the pattering of horses’ feet 
was heard. The tiger had trapped the timid 
lamb. 


56 


THE WANDEtlims OE AC^^NES. 


A young couple, one demure and sullen, 
one haughty and sneering, stood before a 
civil magistrate. With the lips, they vowed 
loyalty and love. But in the heart of one 
there was timidity, sorrow ; in the heart of 
the other, there was treachery, lust. 

When a wicked young man has once sated 
his desire, he cannot bear the cry of anguish 
that comes from the soul-depths of his 
maiden victim. It irritates, it maddens him. 
He dashes her aside, onto the rocks of ruin. 
He turns her adrift upon a scoffing pitiless 
world. 

***** 

By the law of gravitation, a lily that 
loosens itself from the stalk will fall into the 
mire, and so its whiteness will be no more. 
A daughter that has lavished her charms on 
a conscienceless suitor, and then is cast 
aside, will fall — not rise: yea, fall deeper and 
deeper. 

Agnes was now living in a new world. 
Everything had changed its meaning, its 
appearance to her. Like Magdalen of old, 
in her period of folly, she wandered from city 
to city. She thought no more of mother and 
home, she could not, if she would, behold 
the little white cottage, with its velvety lawn 
in front, nor the kindly old apple tree, under 
67 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


whose brawny old arms she used to sit at 
eventide. She, no longer, was known by 
her name of youth, she laid it aside as one 
does a garment she fears to soil. Some 
fiendish hand had blotted it from her mem- 
ory, and gave her in its stead the name 
Perdita,” tho lost one. She donned the 
tresses of the courtesan. She slumbered by 
day — then stalked 'about the avenues by 
night, with features painted, so as to defy 
the ravages of remorse. She laughed, ’tis 
true, but there was no melody in it as in days 
gone by. Each night, a new lover beguiled 
her to himself, and mingling low lustful 
whispers, their lips met in sparkling wine, 
till silently, darkly, softly, they drifted nearer 
to hell. 

Summer had sped away without throwing a 
smile at the wandering girl as it was wont to 
do. Gloomy Fall came into the world, with 
a howling and chilly wind. Soon it merged 
into fiercest Winter. 

One night, after a long retirement, Agnes 
(I prefer that name,) swept out under cover 
of the night to wend her way to the old 
haunts — wherein despair and passion meet. 
Her fingers were jeweled. Her dresses were 
costly. Fragrance breathed from her hair. 
Suddenly, she paused before a large gray 
building, whose doors were gnarled by mas- 
58 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


sive iron gates. It was a church. Like one 
who suddenly comes upon a startling vision, 
Agnes stood rigid, with her wild eyes fastened 
upon the cross. She tried to push on, but, 
like the homeless little sparrow on a winter’s 
night, she was swept backward. Some su- 
pernatural power now grasped her. She 
lowered her head, she turned, she went 
slowly up the steps. The door seemed to be 
held aside by angel hands. She entered, and 
falling on her knees, her head dropped to 
her bosom. Her brain reeled. She seemed as 
one dying. She gasped one word : Jesus ! 
and the conflict with hell was over. Now — 
she knew not why — the melody so long de- 
parted, lived again in her voice — she lifted 
her face and let the soft rays of the sanctuary 
lamp stream over it. She heard the Master 
whisper, Come back to Me, my child. Give 
Me thy heart. Thy soul is fatigued, thou 
needest rest. Thou hast drained the cup of 
bitterness. Lift again to thy lips the chalice 
of sweetness.” 

Just here, the noise of shufiling feet, broke 
into her reverie. In the chaste light, Agnes 
saw the figure of a white-haired old man 
move toward the organ. Was it a spirit, or 
was it a being of flesh and blood? Softly, 
strangely, the melody stole through the holy 
air. ^^Adeste Fideles” was the burden 
59 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 

carried out into the night. The faithful old 
organist was playing over the music for 
Christmas morning. The tones swelled 
with a mighty power, then died away into 
the faintest tremor. The young storm- 
beaten soul, was now bewildered. Verily, 
it seemed to her, as if the gloomy page of 
her life had never been written. She was 
living on in the sweet continuation of child- 
hood innocence. For seven months, had she 
been aloof from her mother’s home. Yet, 
she still heard the low echo of that voice she 
loved the best, and felt still the gentle move- 
ment of her mother’s hand across her brow. 
Eemorse — the demon — now loomed up from 
a dark corner and with a hideous grin was 
making slowly toward the prostrate girl ; but 
an angel came and motioned him away. 

The melody again lowered and died, and 
the old man knelt for a moment, bade his 
Master good night ” and passed away. 
Agnes was now alone at the feet of her Lord — 
as the sinful one of old. No one stood nigh 
to accuse her. Oh, it was no fantasy. She 
heard the living voice from the tabernacle : 

Sinful child, where are your accusers ? ” 
Unbidden, her lips seemed to answer — I 
know not. Lord.” “Then, shall I not condemn 
thee. Go in peace, thy frailties are for- 
given thee.” 


60 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


There is nothing so soothing to a soul in 
despair, as a gentle look — a kind word. One 
alone is sufficient to loosen the flood-gates 
and let the tear-torrent pour out. Then 
peace conies 

* * # * * 

Agnes knelt long, and wept bitterly. As 
her face lifted, now and then, it caught 
the wavering gleam from some hovering 
spirit. Tears — more precious than costliest 
pearls, and just as glittering — played for 
some moments on her cheeks then lost them- 
selves in her clasped hands. 

When the heart of a young girl is plunged 
in shame and sadness, a fierce yearning, be- 
times, seizes it to fly to the bosom of her 
mother. No one else in the world will do. 
So our wandering Agnes became, at this 
period, almost maddened by a longing for 
home. On the instant she arose, fled into 
the night, but ah ! not this time to pause in 
the glare of sin. She hurried past her old 
haunts, her old paramours. Straightway, for 
many hours, did she travel toward the old 
homestead. She came into the city of her 
girlhood just as the dawn was breaking into 
the world. The light of the heavens seemed 
lighter than ever. What melody was that 
which now stole through her being again ? 

Adeste Fidelos/' Ah, yes, it all crept back 
61 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


to her like the awakening from a dream. It 
was Christmas morn. 

Still clad in her robes, the earnings of sin, 
the penitent hastened down the little quiet 
street, whereon her feet were wont to patter 
so gleefully eight months before. At last 
she stood, with thirsting soul, and trembling 
heart before the dear little cottage. Was 
mother still alive ? She would run and ask 
her next-door neighbor. 0 God ! ’’ a nega- 
tive answer would drive her mad. Agnes had 
hardly time for further thought, when the 
door swung open. A pale, saddened, yet re- 
signed face appeared to greet the holy morn. 
It was the ghost of her old parent. God had 
sent her back from the grave to say a last 
farewell. Agnes flew through space. She 
clutched the figure, — did it not fade from her 
like air ? No, it was the real flesh and blood. 

Mother ! ! ” was the sole quivering cry of 
the sinful child. Agnes ! ! ’’ was all the 
mother could find strength to say. Tears 
tell the deep sub-movement of the soul — they 
are powerful. Words come too slowly. 

***** 

Behind a convent cloister, the Master looks 
out and sees, each hour of the day, a sweet 
serene face. The roses have stolen away 
from the cbeeks» The coy glaiice, no longer 

act 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


lives in the eyes. In its stead, is the calm, 
steady light that beams from the soul that 
is in loving communion with the Lord and 
God. The face still gladdens, and responds 
to the call, Agnes,” not Agnes, Perdita, 
the courtesan, but Agnes the saintly peni- 
tent. Under a faithful old apple-tree whose 
fruit gladdens the little ones, and whose 
shade blesses the old folks, a simple white 
slab stands as a sentinel. On its breast is 
chiselled the name, ^ Martha Trador.’ It 
tells who it is that slumbers beneath the 
flowers. The mother of Agnes. The heart 
that was once broken has now mingled with 
the insensible clay. The brain that burned 
with torturing thoughts, is at peace. The 
soul isn’t here. It tarries at the gate of 
Paradise, and seems to look back to earth 
as though it had left a treasure behind. It 
may be one of the angels, I know not, but 
betimes, a soft sigh is heard to move through 
the air, its burden, is one word, Agnes ! ” 

* * # 

Dear young girls, this is another story 
just for you. Do your own little lives run 
along in parallel with any part of it ? Pause ! 
Reflect ! You are all human even as Agnes. 
Will any of you ever drift from your moor- 
ings out into the night of sin, sorrow, ruin ? 
63 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


You cannot tell, you may if you run foolishly 
into danger. The Master’s voice sounded 
on the ear of our young penitent, and she 
came home again. The call is rare. Most 
of your sex who fall, lose heart. They go 
and explore the forbidden land to its fullest 
limits. Alas, they soon weary of it, lust 
soon cools, and leaves the dregs of remorse 
behind. Satan employs the same strategy 
with these unfortunates, as he did with Judas. 
They threw aside the gold they have grasped 
by traffic, and turn to Death, beseeching 
him to take them, and he does, only too 
often. 

You may think, my good girls, that all 
my sympathies are with young men, and 
that I am prone to magnify your shortcom- 
ings ; no, not so ! I do say, however, that 
very often you do not show a modesty and 
prudence that is natural to your sex. It 
may be that because you are so good and 
unsuspecting, you think now, as you thought 
as children, namely, that the world is a huge 
playground and every one in it, is virtuous 
and sinless. Alas, for your innocence, you 
are too trusting. The loving words of your 
Lord would fit you here : “ Be shrewd as 
the serpent, and as guileless as the dove.” 
Have a cautious eye, ever to the preserva- 
tion of the lily in your soul. The world, 


THE WANDERINGS OF AGNES. 


very often mocks virtue, and calls those who 
cling to it, weak-minded children.” 

Never mind the sarcasm of men. Your 
Saviour sees your souls and is pleased with 
them. What more can you sigh for ? 

This morning as I began to write, I saw a 
little tot sitting in a doorway, with an old 
clay pipe and some ^ suds.’ She was deftly, 
artistically, sending tiny bubbles into the air. 
I noticed that most of them became beauti- 
fully colored as soon as the sun kissed them, 
purple, green, all shades came forth. Sud- 
denly, while sailing in mid-air, I saw the 
prettiest of them burst, and leave no vestige 
of its life behind. 

The joys and frolics of your youthful 
days, my dear girls, are bubbles. They de* 
light you for a time, yes, only for a time, 
and that time is all too short. When you 
have set your young hearts on them, they 
suddenly burst, and leave you with nothing 
but the insatiable longing. Be wise, then, 
for your temporal and your eternal peace. 
A saintly old chaplain used to say to his 
class, ‘‘ Have all the fun you can, but be 
good.” There is a great deal behind this 
seemingly simple sentence. The gayest girl, 
the one whose laughter has the sweetest tone, 
is she who guards herself against vicious in- 
fluence, and who never loses sight of the 
5 65 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


fact, that she is a child of the chaste Mother 
of God. Here, my little story ends. I will 
leave you to ponder what I have said, and I 
will leave Agnes, who like Magdalen of yore, 
still sits at the Master’s feet shedding sweet 
tears of penitence over her girlhood follies. 


66 


XTbe ^onrxQ Cavalier* 


RESPECT FOR WOMANHOOD. 

It was midnight hour. The world was 
wrapped in a deathlike stillness. No night 
before was ever so hideous. It seemed as 
though the dead had risen from their graves, 
and throwing aside their shrouds, were 
stalking hither and thither over the face of 
the earth. The writhing snake, the howl- 
ing jackal, seemed to rule the kingdom of 
darkness, whilst man, bound in gloom, slum- 
bered on. On the skirt of the mountain, 
that strove to lift its head in quest of a 
pleasanter dwelling, camp-fires sent the 
glistening sparks angrily into the air, whilst 
closely after them, the smoke rolled away, 
and mingled with the mists. The night 
winds seemed to sing a syren song of sorrow 
through the dead pines. All day long, the 
horses’ hoofs had pattered and thumped on 
the hardened loam. The yells of the savage 
Indian could be heard even above the clash 
of sword, and rattle of musketry. From 
their belts, the scalps of many a white man 
hung dripping in blood. The ghastly faces 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


of the myriad dead, told how fierxjely the 
battle must have raged. Now, however, the 
day’s conflict was ended. The savages had 
retreated across the Little Big Horn river, 
into the hills of Montana, whilst the sturdy 
men of General Custer, the terror of the 
Sioux tribe, were encamped across the 
stream. The murmuring river ran along 
between the two armies, as though it would 
part them from further conflict. Perhaps its 
heart was sighing for peace. To its gentle 
voice, however, there came no sound of ac- 
cord. The blood-chilling screech of the 
wild-cat, trembled through the slumbering 
ravines, waking into sound many kindred 
screeches, but that was all. Near the river 
brink an old log-cabin stood, the handi- 
work, no doubt, of Indian braves of days 
gone by. Through the chinks in the wood, 
gleams of light wandered out into the dark- 
ness. Coarse laughter could be heard now 
and then. A peep through the door would 
have told you that the cheery voice was that 
of Major Reno. He was standing beside a 
rude cot on which a young cavalier was 
lying painfully wounded. At last the Major 
turned to go. Good night, Lester,” he said 
to the young soldier, sweet dreams. I’ll see 
you in the morning.” As the squeaky door 
slammed Lester answered back a feeble good 
68 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


night 1 The merciful moon, at last pitying 
the loneliness of earth, moved into view, and 
let fall a few of her softening gleams, just 
as a mother comes with a candle, and treads 
with soundless step, to see if her babe is in 
slumber. Just one, only one, kindly ray 
lingered after the others had slunk behind 
the wail of frowning clouds. It paused, as 
a child would, who had come upon a fairy. 
It had only caught sight of Lester the 
wounded soldier. He lay with face up- 
turned as though he would direct his slum- 
ber thoughts to heaven. Over his pale brow 
the dark curls fell in careless strands. The 
head rested on what first appeared to be a 
leathern pillow, but on closer sight it showed 
to be the back of a cavalry saddle. The shirt 
was torn aside at the throat. The right 
hand, as though it partook not of the repose, 
grasped lightly the hilt of the sword, to he 
ready in a dangerous moment to leap into 
action. 

The gentle moonbeam just here seemed 
to say, Poor young warrior, how gladly I 
would help you, if I could. How fain would 
I fold you in my embrace and bear you 
away to those loved ones of whom you are 
dreaming ! ” Seeing, however, that it could 
do naught, the gentle daughter of night 
went away and joined her companions. 

69 


SHOUT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


Just here the splash of an oar could he 
heard. A canoe shot with a grinding 
sound upon the shore. Two Sioux warriors 
came creeping through the brushwood in 
soft tread as only an Indian can do. They 
halted at the door of the cabin, their former 
dwelhng. Their eyeballs stiffened and 
glared with a strange mixed passion, at be- 
holding the dim candlelight. Closer they 
crept. The latter of the two, with the in- 
stinct of a natural warrior, reached for his 
tomahawk. Closer they came, gritting their 
teeth with the grind of a pent-up hatred. 

He sleeps,” hissed the first. Then 
shall his sleep know no awakening,” rejoined 
the other. See the blood is still moistened 
on his sword,” they whispered together. 

The blood of our brothers,” and the 
whisper lowered into a hateful grumble as it 
died. Just here a bugle call rang through 
the midnight air. The two scouts lifted their 
heads toward the river. There is no time 
to lose,” they breathed excitedly. Let us 
kill him ! ” said the first. No, no,” inter- 
posed the second, grasping the upraised 
hand of his companion. Let us bind him, 
and take him to our wigwam, there we shall 
tie him to the stake, while we dance about, 
and drink in his cry of agony. For see ! 
he is the young captain who led the charge 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


against our band this morning. Ye heavens ! 
what a reckless wretch ! 

When the two scouts had righted their 
gaze, the young charger was lifted on his 
elbows with a vacant stare in his eyes, unable 
to grasp his peril. In a twinkle, the two 
savages pounced on his prostrate form. The 
arms that had that day so fearlessly wielded 
the sabre, were pinioned, so that the gut 
strings sank into the flesh. About his face, 
a band was tightened and in this hapless 
plight, he was dragged through the brier- 
wood and thorns, and thrown rudely into a 
canoe. The two Sioux now strained every 
muscle as they pulled across the stream to 
a place of safety. Like dancing demons, 
hundreds of the Indians were waiting on the 
bank. They had thought, perhaps, the cap- 
tive was General Custer, but no, it was only 
Lester. Even so, he was a white face, and 
they would wreak their vengeance on him. 
Savage as the Indians are, they have much 
respect for authority, and admiration for 
valor. The young wounded cavalier was 
now hurried before Sitting Bull,” the chief 
of the Montana tribe. The scene was one to 
shake the nerve of even a martyr. The red 
glare of the turf -fire brought out all the 
hideous lines of the savage faces. But the 
young swordsman was steady as steel. If 
71 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


he feared, no tremor showed that he did, for 
his voice was deep and firm, and he stood 
erect, with eyes riveted on the face of Sitting 
Bull, who glared at him long and fiercely. 

Dawn was now feebly pushing the dark- 
ness westward, and the scene of trial was 
dramatic in its awfulness. Not many feet 
away, a number of satellites were piling 
billets of seasoned pine wood about a pole. 
No power on earth could now turn aside the 
cruel death that was awaiting the brave 
Lester. He saw and heard all that was being 
done about him, but he moved not a muscle. 
Here the old chief wielding a long baton 
struck with a mighty blow the noisy tam-tam, 
and it instantly sent its shivering vibrations 
through the assembly. Quiet now pre- 
vailed, Sitting Bull arose to speak. “ You 
devilish pale-face,’’ he howled, you are a 
hunter of our race, a despoiler of our herds, 
a ruiner of our lands, and we detest you.” 
This bitter speech fired the souls of all the 
braves, for they broke into a long low growl, 
like infuriated lions. Yes, could I, I would 
cause you to be stung to death by the tongues 
of a thousand scorpions.” Could I tear out 
your eyes, reset them, and tear them out 
again, without ending the torture, I would 
do it. Could T cut your carcass into pieces, 
inch by inch, and feed you to the hawks, so 
Y2 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


would I do. But, fire, ye gods ! fire, with its 
biting tongues is better. It shall consume 
you, even as we do the meat of the dog. 
We, your haters, shall dance about you, as 
you twist in pain, and our shrieks of revenge, 
shall deaden your moans of despair. We 
shall laugh as you die, and when you are 
consumed, we shall gather up your unholy 
ashes, and spread them on the fields of our 
enemies, so that we shall blight the life of the 
kine that roam thereon.” 

Old Sitting Bull, having done with his 
hitter words, pointed to the stake of torture. 
^^Bind him ! ” he cried. ^^So perish all pale- 
faces, our oppressors.” Lester wheeled about, 
and was facing the pyre, whose flames seemed 
anxious to lick him in, and on his face there 
shone a smile of peaceful resoluteness. There 
is a halo peculiar to martyrs for faith and 
country. 

Suddenly a shriek startled the whole coun- 
cil. By a strange cadence, it lowered into a 
sob, yet it was so piteous, it touched the 
heart of each and every warrior. The chief 
threw a fierce glance across the wigwam. 
There, standing with head resting against a 
tree, was the maiden, Sweet Water,” weep- 
ing disconsolately. 

My child, hasten hither,” called the old 
chief, and all trace of ire had gone out of his 
73 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


words. The girl came, and falling on her 
face, cried, 0, good, brave. Sitting Bull, 
my father, hear my plea/’ she began with 
out-held arms. Spare this pale-face, I have 
learned to love him. In all Montana, there 
is no heart so true as his. Many weeks ago, 
while our camps touched each other, I 
chanced to walk on the border fields, to gather 
corn and berries. Two young rufkan soldiers 
who had taken too freely of drink accosted 
me, speaking to me unholy words. I turned to 
go from them, when they sprang and grasped 
me about the waist. I knew not their designs, 
for I had no jewels in my hair, I felt myself 
swooning, I thought to die, when from the 
thicket, a tall young man leaped out, and 
with anger glaring from his blue eyes, he 
felled to the ground my would-be destroyers. 
Then turning gallantly to me, he offered me 
his hand. This I clasped, why should I not ? 
And he led me in safety over the corn hillocks, 
even into my tent. He then lifted his hat, 
turned and hurried away through the forest, 
I stood looking after him with a strange 
longing in my soul, and a grateful tear 
trembled the while in my eye. On the mor- 
row, I could not help it, I strayed in quest of 
him, I found him standing by his horse, 
while it grazed in the clover. He seemed sad. 
My motions waked him from his reverie, yet 
74 



good, brave, Sitting Bull, my father, 
hear my plea/* 




SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


I spoke not. At last, he turned, bade me a 
blessed morn, soon we were in conversation. 
I noted bis modesty at once. From bis words, 
I learned he had a sister at home, far away. 
He playfully calls her his ^ Sweet Water.’ 
He is a lover of the ^ Black Gown,’ so am 
I. He worships the Great Spirit beyond 
the stars, so do I. He wears a cross by his 
heart, even as I. I spake not of all this 
before, for I feared your anger, 0 chief, my 
father. He is gallant and true ; spare, oh, 
spare him even for thine own daughter’s plea, 
and in my heart grateful love will ever live 
for thee.” 

As she finished, the maid hid her face in 
her hands and the silver tears trickled through 
her fingers. 

Old Sitting Bull seemed dazed, as were 
all, by this unlooked for revelation. All 
eyes now turned to the poor young cavalier 
who stood looking into the ground, while a 
faint smile of memory played on his hand- 
some face. A strange, discordant murmur, 
here ran through the crowd of savages. The 
old chief stood again with head erect. His 
features were much softened. Pale-face 
shall not die, daughter,” he said calmly, 

because of your plea. He respects the 
virtue of maidenhood, even as we, therefore, 
he is a true man. Release him, warriors 
76 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


all/’ cried Sitting Bull, and numbers sprang 
at his command. Lester was soon unshackled. 
He strode over to where ^ Sweet W ater ’ 
stood, and taking her hand, kissed it in 
gratitude. He then told the old warrior of 
his grateful feeling. Here, a mounted brave, 
leading a horse already saddled, came has- 
tening up to the young released cavalier. 
Lester mounted in a bound and putting spurs 
to the steed, soon disappeared around the 
bend, which led to his own camp. They say 
that this was the very day in which the 
charge of General Custer’s brigade took 
place. 

General Reno being routed, the entire 
force of Sioux led by Sitting Bull, turned on 
Custer and his valiant men, and, as history 
states, not one charger was left alive. Brave 
Lester fell, too, in their final charge, and as 
his body was borne away by his comrades, an 
Indian maiden hastened by, and brushing 
away the clots of blood from the lifeless 
brow, let fall upon it a few sacred tears, as 
she moaned : “ 0 brave soul, your ^ Sweet 
Water’ at home will hear your cheery voice 
no more, neither be greeted by sunny smiles. 
But in her stead, your Indian ‘ Sweet Water ’ 
will pray by your resting-place and see that 
the violets fade not above you.” 

My young toiling friends, here is a type 

77 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


of manhood, that you may well imitate. 
Above that silent grave in far off Montana, 
no monument, perhaps, is reared to his 
memory, for the brave soldier often sleeps 
where he falls, unhonored and unsung. But 
the angels in heaven, have recorded in the 
book of life, an account of his manly, 
chivalrous act, and I feel quite sure, as his 
soul winged beyond the clouds, where there 
is no strife, it was met by the Great General 
of Paradise, with the words of approval : 

Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” 

Now, some of you youngsters, with dime 
novel notions, may admire Lester’s reckless 
daring in conflict, more than any of his other 
notable traits. Let me say, however, that 
the gallantry he showed for the lone, timid 
Indian girl, when the ruffians would have 
insulted her, makes me reserve a cosy corner 
for him in my heart. 

As long as we have our heads together, 
and the subject has been set before us, I 
would like to hum a question into the ear of 
each one of you. Do you find that you 
merit, on the pages of the hero-book, a men- 
tion for the respect that you show your girl 
companions who toil beside you in the shop 
or the office ? Can you stand before your 
sister or your mother, look them straight in 
the eyes, and vow that you are as careful in 
78 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


the presence of every young woman, as you 
are in theirs? Would you be prone to 
repeat the slang and sordid words before 
them, that you had been using in the work- 
room hour after hour ? The fly-wheels 
buzzed above your heads, as if they fain 
would smother your sordid jestings. Would 
you hold before the eyes of that good sister, 
the vile cigarette picture that you may be 
flaunting into the gaze of those young girls 
who toil beside you? Think these hints 
over, my good young men, and if the thought 
of one of them causes your faces to twitch 
with guilt, then you have reason to lower 
your heads in shame, for you have not a 
spark of that true Catholic chivalry that 
Lester possessed, and which will mark him as 
a hero for all time. 

I vow, I am not going to preach to you, 
young friends, just straight talks is all I in- 
tend to give you. Look back beyond that 
happy period, for most of you, — your school 
days. Beyond these I say, to the spring- 
time of your childhood, when you held faith 
in goblins, fairies, and the like. When, if a 
big boy were to ask you what sin meant, you 
would have said ‘^1 dunno.'’ Well now it 
refreshes you I am sure to take that view. 
My ! there^s nothing so sweet in all the 
world as a chubby-faced little chap about six 
79 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


or seven. Little girls ain’t in it. What 
draws you to like the little fellow ? Why, 
his innocence. You can’t help liking young- 
sters, anyhow, because they are little cherubs, 
without the wings. 

You were tots once, you recall how, when 
you sat on the kitchen floor with a bunch of 
your favorite playmates, all little girls, how 
gleeful you were, as you piled up the blocks 
into “ Bluebeard’s Tower ” then knocked 
them down, just to be devilish. The little 
girls, who may have been dressed, as many 
are, in Scotch fashion, frolicked about 
through the sunny day. Then, when dusk 
came, and the little neighbors had to go 
home, you rolled your chubby arms around 
the neck of Kitty and kissed her ^good- 
night ’ while mamma looked on with a holy 
smile. Then, tired out, you rolled on the 
sofa, and you were soon snoring, whilst your 
curly head pushed half under the pillow. 
When Baby’s Boat ” wafted you off to 
Muffin’s-Land ” you dreamed, and smiled 
as you slumbered, for you spied little angels 
peeping at you over the top of a fluffy white 
cloud. 

Like the first act of a play, the fairy-days 
rolled by. The dark curtain was lowered on 
them. Then came the school days, when 
the sound of the early bell sent a shiver 
80 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


down your back, especially if it was winter- 
time. A new world was opened up to you. 
You learned to figure and spell. You knew 
countries and rivers by the colors on the map. 
You had then too, a young favorite, your 

steady ” the lassie who lived in your block. 
Together you tripped off to school, and home 
again, as regularly as the ebbing and flow- 
ing of the tide. This was the first time that 
you felt a one-sided preference for the girls. 
Of course, you would not let any one know 
it, for fear, the boys would call you sissy.’’ 
On the sly, however, you gave little Bright 
Eyes ” a hunk of your candy, or proffered her 
a pansy that you may have swiped,” as you 
skipped past the florist’s. As you shook 
hands with your ideal ” your grasp lingered 
somewhat longer, than the one you would 
give Billy ” if you had run across him. 
You tarried by the gate when school let out, 
until teacher had to shoo you away. 

What did all this show ? Simply the 
presence in your heart of a tenderness for 
the gentler sex, that you could not well de- 
fine. God placed that leaning in your 
frames, young friends, for a wise purpose, 
that later times will reveal to you, and as long 
as it does not break the bounds prescribed 
by conscience, it is good, and ennobling. 

Atlas, just as with nursery days, the sunny 
6 81 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


school times came to a close. Your belle 
looked entrancing in her graduation dress. 
The scent of flowers that deigned to mingle 
their perfume with the odor of ten-cent 
cologne, filled every corner of the class-room. 
Your face shined with an extra soaping, and, 
you were happy. The music died away at 
last. Your day of triumph was ended. You 
were a schoolboy no longer. The world 
now frowned at you. It lost the old smile 
it had for you as a schoolboy. At this 
period, you felt the first real conflict between 
your lower and your higher nature. Now, 
that vigilance was somewhat relaxed. The 
, voice of your passions fought with the 
promptings of grace for the mastery. Here, 
the combat grew strong. You realized, that 
there was now in your frame the presence of 
an animal power that strove to lead you into 
thoughts and deeds against the virtue of 
chastity. By prompt prayer, however, you 
sent the unholy fantasy from you. 

You are at work now in the factory, or in 
the commercial house. You see lewd litho- 
graphs in many places. The world teems 
with vice. Godless men, at your elbow, 
whisper suggestive things about the young 
women, who toil a few paces from you. 
Then you swing in with the sordid song. 
0 God, do you realize what you are doing, 
82 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


playing the satellite for Satan, casting filth 
upon a soul for which Christ sweat blood in 
Gethsemane? Some good boy, perchance, 
will lift his voice in protest against the mock- 
ing of virtue, but the votary of the world 
retorts, Pshaw, be a man, don’t be a Sun- 
day schoolboy all your life.” Alas, what 
a harvest hell is reaping ! 

You, my young Catholic boys, you who 
are the hope of Mother Church for the dawn- 
ing generation, be virtuous, be modest, be 
chivalrous in your dealing with your young 
maiden co-workers. Let not the maxims 
of the world beguile you. In this era of 
sensuality, you young knights of the Cross, 
should be distinguished above all other young 
men, by your decorum, your modesty in the 
company of all young women. You must 
be the light of good example before these 
voluptuaries who live, even as the heathen, 
for the mere sating of sense. 

In story-books, you have seen the picture 
of the plumed knight, as he dashed on his 
steed over the moat into the castle to save 
his lady fair from the bandits who lurked 
beneath her window, to bear her away. See 
how he wields his lance ! See the heads of 
the ruffians roll off, one by one on the sward. 
He calls to Clarabell. She leaps into his 
arms. The steed dashes away to safety. 

83 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


When knighthood was in flower, these 
young men knew how to act toward young 
women, always with respect. I hold now, 
that Catholic youths have in their hearts a 
deep deference for every girl, and for her 
virtue. I hold that few of them will do aught 
knowingly to bring a blush to her cheek, or 
send a pang into her heart. Am I right ? 

W ell. Father,” you may ask, ^^is it wrong 
for me to speak to the girls, or to walk with 
them to or from work?” No, surely not. 
You may, now and then, share your dime 
with the one you fancy best, if you choose. 
When the ice-cream season comes around, 
you may sliow your gallantry, by a treat. 
Again, under the glad smile of your spiritual 
father, you may attend the different sociables 
that are held in the hall, and have a merry 
time. I don’t want you boys to be pokes, 
or to hold to any insane idea, that to laugh 
and chat with a girl friend, is a sin. Never ! 
However, be always well behaved. Be 
guarded in word, and the sweet bond of 
friendship between you and the girl you 
love, will be blessed by your Father in 
Heaven. 

There is a thought on this subject, that 
used to make me tremble, when, as a young- 
ster I pondered it. Woe,” Our Lord 
says, ^‘Woe to the one who gives scandal to 
84 : 


THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 


the innocent.’’ Woe to the young man who 
breathes foul suggestions into the mind of 
any pure girl. God’s anger will fall on him 
like a lightning-stroke, sooner or later. 

But, pshaw ! you boys don’t need this 
frightening. I take you all as young noble- 
men. You know that it was Almighty God 
who placed in your hearts this leaning to- 
ward the gentler sex — that makes you at 
times seek their company. You know, too, 
how easily an innocent attachment can be 
vitiated by Satan into a base lusting. You 
know what dangers to avoid. Yes, you are 
like the magnet and the steel fibre, or rather 
like the little birds who have, it seems, a 
corresponding proneness for company-keep- 
ing. Your Lord intends that you shall be 
the helpmates, the defenders of your gentle 
sisters. He also intends that they should go, 
hand in hand, with you, down the road of 
life, and by their tenderness and prudence 
influence you toward what is noble and good. 
Human affection, then, directed by the voice 
of Faith, is indeed a sacred impulse. 


85 


'' Sftinnp ant) jfrecftles/’ 


ONE THING NECESSARY. 

Say ! Skinny, what are you going to 
be when you grow up ? ” came the pert 
query from a little chap to his chum, asthetAVO 
stood, one morning, on the curb, waiting for 
the school-bell to ring. He, of whom the 
question was asked, was a boy of very slender 
frame, with chaste blue eyes, saintly face, 
and hair of blond, bordering on white. 

Ah ! I dunno ’xactly ’’ drolled Skinny 
in response. 1 d’ wanter tell yo’, you’ll 
gimme de laugh ” Laugh ? ” said he of the 
freckled face. Why, are yo’ goin, to be a 
circus man ? ” No ! certainly not,” Skin- 
ny made answer, looking up at the tower, 
as though beseeching the bell to ring, and 
to interrupt the conversation. No ! don’t 
tell, the fellers.” Then riveting his eyes 
straight into those of his little friend, he said 
softly, I’d like to be a priest, if I could get 
good enough.” 

Ha, ha, ha ! ^Freckles,’ ” broke into a 
musical scale of laughter, and in a teasing 
86 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES/ 


tone said, 0, Skinny ! you a priest, an’ 
wear vestments, phew ! an’ preach ? ” Yes, 
and maybe hear your confession too,” re- 
torted the lad of slight frame, a little twitted. 
Then both broke into a friendly duel of 
teasing. 

^^Ah, well. Skinny, no foolin’, you’d 
make a good priest all right,” Freckles went 
on in a calm tone, I see you sneakin’ into the 
church every evening. But ah ! what will 
I be ! ” sighed the chunky little lad. Never 
thought of bein’ anything ; maybe. I’ll be a 

cop,” then I can get square on Red 
Mullins” for peachin ” on me. 

J ust here the pompous old hell swung his 
ponderous lazy form to and fro, like a cradle, 
and began calling the young scamps into 
school. Soon, all little heads were buzzing 
over their studies like bees around a hive. 
Some lucid little brains absorbed the trite 
matter, as readily as a sponge drinks in water. 
While other some looked glum at the pages, 
as though they were trying to make out the 
figures on a Chinese laundry ticket. The 
atmosphere throughout the entire school 
was quiet and orderly. At last a ripple of 
laughter could be heard in the far off room, 
and so every boy nodded his head, and said 
.to himself, Aha, Father O’Flynn, has come 
for his morning talk. It must be he, for ho 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


scatters merriment wherever he goes/’ Sure 
enough the steps came nearer and nearer. 
At last the door opened softly and the lusty 
chorus, Good morning, Father,” that rang 
through the air, left no doubt as to the wel- 
come that lived in the young hearts for 
Father O’Flynn. Sister, now quietly with- 
drew, and the kind spiritual father took the 
seat of authority. All little eyes and faces 
shone with merriment, like tins ” scoured 
with sapolio. 

The face of the priest, grew serious in a 
twinkling. ^^Boys,” he began, I am going 
to speak to you to-day, on a most important 
topic : — that of vocation. You are all sweep- 
ing along, into manhood’s estate, and it is 
time to make up your minds what role you 
are to play in the future.” Tell him what 
yer goin’ to be, ^ Skinny,’ ” said Freckles ” 
softly, as he nudged his seat-mate, but the 
former grew pale, and was silent. And so 
like a true artist that he was. Father O’Flynn 
wove and spun so touching a story of life, 
that, when he closed. Freckles looked up like 
one charmed and sighed, Fadder, please say 
some more.” 

When at noon-hour, the boys came rollick- 
ing into the street, like ^ taters ’ out of a 
barrel, Freckles ” pulled the coat-tails of 
his steady chum, and said in his own inimit- 
88 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES. 


able fashion, Hey, Skinny, de priest has got 
you guessin’ all right, ain’t he ? ” The little 
saint smiled a meaning smile in reply, and 
said faintly, Yes, I think he has, my mind 
is made up. If ^ pop ’ can afPord it. I’ll 
start in September, for St. Charles !” “Gwan, 
you’ll be a cop, same as meself, some day,” 
said Freckles as he pushed his thumb, none 
too gently, into Skinny’s ribs. These tart 
little words, however, were lost on the desert 
air, for the little dove of the sanctuary, had 
by this time, shot into church to speak to 
the Master he longed to serve, and, long he 
tarried, and fervent were his prayers ; at last 
the factory whistle, across the way, screeched 
the hour, and so the little contemplative 
scurried around the corner, to his scant 
meal. 

The poet has said, ^^One sweet word 
dropped into the heart’s deep well, eternally 
may tell.” As the barrier molded by child- 
ish hands can thaw the rivulet into a difPer- 
ent course, so a thought or a fantasy held 
in youth may ever afterward swerve the as- 
pirations of the soul toward its God. Just 
so was it with Skinny.” The words of 
Father O’Flynn, that morning, had made 
him view the things of the world through a 
spectrum his little hands had never clasped 
before. Vanity of vanities,” the old song 
89 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


of centuries was sung again into the young 
lad’s soul. No little vagabond ever dared 
call our young hero a name before, but now, 
more through reverence than taunts, the 
fellers ” met him with the salute, ‘‘Pious 
Skinny.” 

# * * * * 

“ Yes, my little man, this is your letter. 
Good night, God bless you. I will meet you 
and your father to-morrow evening, at the 
depot. Don’t forget now, the seven-forty 
train.” A little frayed cap was lifted aloft 
with the gallant air of a true young Chris- 
tian knight, and softly came the words as the 
door closed out the cheery light. “ Good 
night. Father. I’ll be on hand, with Pop, 
and Freckles.” 

Time drags, oh so heavily, when the heart 
yearns for the coming of some gladsome 
event. So the intervening hours seemed to 
our little man, to go on with the leaden feet. 
Of course, it was noised through the town 
that Mr. McCarthy’s boy was going away to 
be “ priested.” After the Masses on Sun- 
day, little knots of grasshoppers could be 
seen tarrying about the church gate, and 
the heads nodded, and the tongues wagged, 
but with never a bad word for little “ Skinny 
McCarthy.” “ God bless his little white 
90 


SKINNY AND FRECKLES.' 


head. Ah ! then he’ll make a foine priest, 
so he will.” And so the comments flew like 
little autumn leaves in the eddies of a breeze. 

At last, the hour of parting came, and 

Skinny ” stood on the last step of the car, 
as the long night-train pulled toward the 
tunnel. The depot was thronged. And 
Father O’Flynn with his giant form, high 
hat and cheery laugh, towered over the lesser 
dignitaries. 

Good-bye to ye. God bless ye, child ; ” 
the note was caught up, from one piping 
voice until a mighty gladsome chorus rang 
near and far. 

Poor Freckles,” looked after the train 
that wiggled into the night like a giant 
worm. Then, he skulked down under the 
old dark bridge, and sobbed, and sobbed 
until his little heart felt relieved. ^^Poor 
‘ Skinny ’ he was so good,” he sighed that 
night as he tucked his little red head under 
the covers, ^^he’s gone, how can I live without 
him ? ” 

The little saint came that night, and sat 
on the bedside and smiled and chatted with 
Freckles. No ! it was only a dream. 


***** 

Say, Mister, do yo’ want a good boy what 
kin do anything ? ” was the text of a plea 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


that was sounded into the ears of Mr. Tunny, 
the manager of the ‘‘Eclipse Steel Works,’’ 
as he stood at his desk the next morning. 
The stern old business face, spread into a 
reluctant smile. And so wheeling round on 
his heel, Mr. Tunny, being at first glance 
impressed with the candid little face before 
him, said, “ Let me see, I think I need a boy 
to keep my office in order, and do errands. 
Can you run fast ? ” queried the manager, 
with a studied grin. “ Sure I kin,” the 
plump little fellow replied. “ Just try me ! ” 
This snappy unstudied reply was enough. 
The old gentleman said he liked the boy’s 
“ get up ” and so he was signed, as office 
boys usually are, “ usque ad revocationem,” 
which means, until they’re “fired.” No 
gloomy prospects of dismissal, however, ever 
arose to darken the horizon of “ Freckles’ ” 
prospects. Like the proverbial balloon, he 
rose higher, and higher. 

How the months and the years sweep 
along, when the mind is busied in honest toil, 
and the conscience is unsullied by sin. As 
the relation between sound and echo, so the 
letters of “ Freckles ” to “ Skinny ” always 
found a sweet response, and as their minds 
waxed stronger, and more lucid, the more 
elevated in tone became these missiv#^s of 
friendship. 


92 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES. 


One day, the passers-by saw the main 
office of the Eclipse Company draped in 
sombre black. A large photo was nestled 
artistically over the door. The face was 
big, round, philanthropic. It was the sad 
announcement of the passing of Mr. Tunny. 
The wheels of manufacture, however, cannot 
be stopped by the death of even so impor- 
tant a personage as a superintendent. So 
in due time a hurried meeting of the 
consultors was called, and Mr. Harding was 
elected to fill the vacancy. Who was Mr. 
Harding ? Why, none other than our friend 
Freckles ” of yore. That day had marked 
the twelfth anniversary of his entrance into 
the office of the company. He had, in the 
course of trial, been found to possess 
the sterling ring of integrity, and so the 
happy coincidence made the anniversary of 
Freckles ’’ a most memorable one. On the 
morning of his assuming the exalted office, 
Mr. Harding received a telegram from a far 
off city. It read Hearty congratulations,’’ 
signed Skinny.” A sacred smile, touched 
by the chaste memories of school-days, played 
in the new director’s face, for an instant, 
then the features swayed into a different 
mood. Two, perhaps more, big tears stood 
in his eyes. They soon passed by, however. 
Tears do not always spell sorrow. Now a 
93 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


I 


faint yet distant soliloquy was heard int he 
office. He’s a brick ! I’m sorry he’s so 
far away.” 

***** 

In the Cathedral parish of a large city, 
a new curate had recently been assigned. 

He was a striking figure, unusually tall, of 
features truly classic, with an eye ever lit 
by grace. One that could almost read the 
secrets of a soul. Merry of manner, eloquent 
as a Bossuet, simple as a child. Such was 
the symposium of graces possessed by the 
new priest ” in the parish. On the morn- 
ing that he was slated to preach, crowds 
surged into the vast enclosure. And the 
voice fired by a natural eloquence, and 
warmed by zeal, swept as a clarion, through 
nave and transept. The months wore on, 
and the people learned to love him more 
and more. The old grannies ” (they are 
in every parish), said he had two smiles. 

One for the old folks, and one for the 
childer.” The former was rather stiff. 

The latter was warm, bubbling with joviality. 

But as old ‘‘ granny ” Higgins says, He’s . 
Lordship always takes away the wan that 
gets pop’ler.” So in Advent season, after 
two years’ ministrations. Father McCarthy 
(for it is he of whom I speak), was sent to 
94 




“ SKINNY AND FRECKLES.” 


labor in another field. Many lamentations, 
marked his leaving for the depot. And 
many, many tears glistened in the eyes of 
the tots,’’ when the nice priest ” went 
away. 

***** 

In the private office of a bank, two young 
men sat in earnest conversation. They had 
been so engaged for some hours. Every 
other office in that section of the city had 
been stilled from the bustle of business, 
many hours before, and the busy brained 
brokers were now sitting in the sacred at- 
mosphere of their homes. Yes, it was late. 
Even the little roguish newsbodys, who had 
sung through the evening the lusty cry. 
Extree,” had long since counted their 
pennies, and had been tucked away to sleep. 

At last, the older of the two financiers 
said, I agree, yes, to your last proposition, 
on those terms. Mr. Harding. You can 
establish a branch of the Eclipse Company 
here, as soon as you like.” So, after a hearty 
grasp of the hand, the man of ruddy com- 
plexion, who was none other than Freckles ” 
of old, turned to pass into the street. 
The night was cold and sleety. The pave- 
ments were slippery as glass. With the 
same quick step of boyhood days, he now 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


hastened to cross the street, to his hotel, 
when a car came buzzing along with its 
wire now and then sputtering, and a nervous 
greenish light. The quick eye of Mr. Hard- 
ing did the problem in a twinkle.’’ I can 
get over before the car comes,” he said, 
as he made a leap to cross the track. But, 
alas ! he slipped on the insidious icy pave- 
ment, and fell as the car came growling 
along like a monster — and struck him, 
thro wing him many feet to one side. Every- 
thing grew still and dark for a space. The 
clang of a gong now told that an ambulance 
was speeding to the scene. Blood was 
streaming over his brow and blinding his 
sight. Still conscious, and with what 
seemed a dying breath, the injured man 
muttered, priest, for God’s sake — a 

priest ! ” By a sweet disposition of Provi- 
dence — how often it happens that a mes- 
senger of mercy is at hand, to catch the call 
of the dying ! The words had scarcely passed 
into the night, when a strange figure 
brushed his way through the crowd, and 
stooping over the prostrate form, began to 
lift from the soul its burden of sin. The 
crowd stood with heads uncovered. Only the 
faint glare of the surgeon’s lantern rested 
on the face of the unfortunate man. Will- 
ing hands now lifted the unconscious form 
96 


SKINNY AND FRECKLES. 


into the ambulance. At the hospital, 
though courtesy, the priest was allowed to 
give his sacred ministration first. The 
clotted blood had been washed away, and the 
features were calm, as of one slumbering. 
The priest stooped, to anoint with blessed oil 
the eyes that were to greet the world no 
more. 

He started, grew ghastly pale, — seemed 
almost to totter. Then, in violent sorrow, 
he bent to kiss the aching brow. My God, 
its ^ Freckles,’ ” he moaned, with a tremor. 
The very mention of this word, of boy- 
hood days, seemed to shock the dying man 
into a momentary consciousness. He opened 
his glassy eyes, which kept widening into 
a stare of glad surprise. A faint smile 
came softly over the features as though 
they had caught the first glimpse of heaven. 
Then the two hands were slowly raised with a 
gesture of love. And in a voice, so weak 
that it just stirred the air, came the moan. 
Father, 0, Father McCarthy. My life- 
long friend ! How came you here ? Bless 
me, for I feel I am dying.” 

The priestly hand rested again in benedic- 
tion on the cold brow. Tears coursed down 
the saintly face. The languid eyes of the 
wounded one closed again, softly, softly, 
and the surgeon resting his ear on the fading 
7 97 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


heart, whispered gently, Father, your friend 
is gone ! ” 

Poor Mr. Harding, the Freckles ’’ of 
boyhood’s sunny days, is now sleeping in the 
churchyard, and a noble granite cross throws 
its blessed shadow athwart the peaceful 
tomb. Every few days a tall stately figure, 
clad in sombre black, steals softly by in the 
twilight of evening and kneels to pray. By 
turns, smiles and sorrow-clouds flit across the 
thoughtful face, as visions of sunnier days, 
passed with him who rests beneath the 
sward, come into life. After kneeling a 
few moments motionless in thought the 
priestly eyes turn slowly, and read again 
the script in the granite. Then the 
mysterious figure passes slowly to the gate, 
and so into the church, across the way. No, 
Father McCarthy has not forgotten his friend, 
and often, as he sits by his window and 
looks over at the long row of stately stones 
of memory, he is forced to sigh, Alas ! 
this is but the destiny of man. To live on 
in hopes, for a few fleeting years, and then, 
and then, to go in obedience to the Master’s 
call, into eternity, leaving those castles half 
completed, on which he had frittered so 
many hours. How unwise then to fret over 
the goods of this world, to the neglect of 
those of eternity ! One thing is necessary.” 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES. 


Look after the interests of the soul in this 
life, and thus secure its welfare in the one 
to come. 

As soon as you were able to toddle, your 
Holy Faith began to arrest your attention 
to this truth : — One thing is necessary. She 
allowed, yea even placed in your hands, the 
toys your little hearts craved, but she told 
you with gentleness, that it would be foolish 
to make them the object of your yearning, 
since you would soon tire of them all. 

Toys are not for children alone. Those 
of sterner years, have their toys too, tempered 
of course, to their condition. Riches, pleas- 
ures, are the toys of children of maturer 
years : — men and women. Just like their 
prototypes, however, in the end, they will 
find all things of earth, are vain, and empty, 
and the better part of their natures — the 
soul — will sigh to have its craving sated, by 
the higher gifts of grace. ‘‘ One thing is 
necessary : — the salvation of your immortal 
soul. 

Our Lord, once strolled into the sweet little 
village of Bethany. He went to see Mary 
and Martha. The former, on beholding Him 
coming through the fields, ran to Him with 
leaping heart. Martha sat at home, busied 
in repairing a repast for the Master. At 
length, she complained that Mary tarried so 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


long. At which J esus said, Martha, Martha, 
thou art troubled over many things. But 
one is necessary, Mary hath chosen the better 
part.” 

Little toiling friends, do you choose the 
better part ? Do you look after the interests 
of your immortal souls ? Or, are all your 
thoughts, and desires centered on your little 
miserable bodies ? Answer ! 

What is this life, after all, that we should 
waste so much energy on it ? It is only a 
stopping-place. At some point on the rail- 
road, there is, what people call, a relay 
station, or annex. There, passengers alight 
from the train, tarry about for a few minutes, 
till the express from the main line comes, and 
takes them to their destination. This life, 
is very like the relay. We are in waiting, 
until the spectre-train, shall come, and hoard- 
ing it, we shall he carried into eternity, the 
final stop, or terminal, whence we are not to 
return. 

0, how we should value our souls then ! 
How we should strive to sanctify them ! St. 
Paul says, You are bought with a great 
price,” and this is true. W e were once under 
the sway of Satan. Christ came, and with 
His blood, tears, and death, bought us back 
again into the vineyard of the Lord. He 
put into our hands the implements with which 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES.* 


we can work out our salvation. Ah, note the 
word Work. Heaven presupposes labor, 
years of toil, and fidelity to grace. Above 
all, in order to reach this eternal haven of 
rest, we must keep our eyes ever turned 
thither. 

I stood, one day, in the vast exhibit-hall, 
of a national exposition. The throngs 
surged to and fro, in their impatience to see 
the many things of interest. Suddenly, a 
hush came over the fevered crowd, and I 
saw phalanxes falling back on either side, so 
as to let, as I thought, some dignitary pass 
through the aisle. I waited breathlessly to 
see who it might be. In a moment, I saw 
a dark almond-skinned Oriental with a white 
fez, go in haste along the passage-way. His 
eyes almost glared, yet there was no nervous- 
ness in them. They were riveted on a white 
Moorish Tower that pointed to the sky, at 
the extreme end of the grounds. He darted 
along, paying heed, neither to taunt or shout, 
until he came to the low door of the odd 
temple. Then he bowed down, and entered 
in. I asked a stranger who stood by me, what 
he thought could so have made the Arab act 
as he did. Ah,” he made reply (and he 
spoke as one who knew), it is just noontide 
hour. It is the custom of the Orientals, to 
lift their thoughts to the temple at that in- 
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SHORT TALKS TO YOtJNG TOILERS. 


stant if far away, — and if near it, they must 
hasten, enter, and pray/’ What a type this 
heathen act was, of the fervent Christian’s 
life. As soon as reason and faith tell him 
of the glories of Paradise, and of his im- 
mortal destiny, he begins to set his desire, 
his gaze, his very soul, on its golden gates, 
nor ever relaxes his vigilance, — as he comes 
nearer to it, each passing hour, — until he at 
last enters through its portals .into unending 
bliss. 

Do you so rivet your desires on your eternal 
home, little friends, or do you sigh for it 
only now and then, when things of earth 
prove bitter and disappointing ? One thing 
is necessary, the salvation of your souls. 
You must act then, with Christian wisdom. 
You must not, like the foolish butterfly, stop 
to sip the sweetness of every flower that nods 
to you, because it is pretty and sweet. No ! 
no ! Before you rest your hands on any 
creature to take it to yourself, you must ask 
the question, Will this creature (be it a 
companion or a toy) lead me further on to 
my salvation, or will it retard my progress, or, 
alas ! beguile my feet into the way that leads 
to eternal misery.” So, if I find that any of 
the fads or foibles of life, has a tendency to 
tempt my gaze from the pinnacle of heaven, 
I will turn away my eyes that they may no 


“SKINNY AND FRECKLES.' 


longer behold their vanity. Alas, if I could 
only take the world by the ear, as a stout 
schoolmaster does the unruly child, and make 
it sit at my feet, and listen to me, how I would 
din that one sentence into its silly head, One 
thing is necessary.” But why should I sigh ? 
I care not so much about the world, at large, 
as I do about you, my little chums. Hearken 
then, to my talk. 

Most of you who listen to my story are 
very poor, I know, and you have to work 
hard ; your homes are not palaces by any 
means. When you pass the shining 
windows of the rich, and see the comfort in 
their homes, — when you girls catch the 
breath of perfume from the rich ladies’ 
dresses and hear the rustle of their swishy ” 
silk skirts, you are apt to let your little 
thoughts go galloping away like frightened 
ponies, and say you would be willing to do 
anything, to give up even your faith, to enjoy 
comforts such as these. No, little friends, 
a thousand times, no. You are in very 
fact richer than those, whose fingers sparkle 
with jewels, and from the folds of whose 
garments such sweetness exhales. In a few 
fleeting hours you and they will be lying 
side by side, with the tireless worm eating 
away the decaying tissues of your bodies. 
Your souls may then be lifted to Paradise 
103 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


with Lazarus the poor, while theirs may be 
buried in hell with Dives the rich. One 
thing is necessary ” — the salvation of your 
souls. 

The ghost of the grave rises up and 
mournfully chants to those clothed in purple, 
jewels, and fine linen : Stop ! thus far, and 
no further.” Beyond the pale of life, before 
the Judgment Seat, all will be alike. How 
unwise it is, then, for you little toilers to be 
bothering your heads about the folly of this 
world. How foolish are you, too, when you 
allow your sunny little faces to droop, be- 
cause your little fingers are not jeweled and 
your tissues not perfumed. You will receive 
all these things later on in the mansion of your 
Father. 

There is an old darky who has lived in our 
town since his childhood days. His old 
woolly head is now quite gray. His steps are 
shuffling. His hand trembles. Folks say 
he is nearing his eightieth year. But I don’t 
know. The boys call him Uncle Reme,” 
I grieve to tell you, that our old friend is 
totally blind. He has been so for many 
years. I suppose you picture him as a 
gloomy old fellow. Well, he isn’t. As he 
goes groping along the street (and he knows 
every one), it is his wont to whistle or hum a 
ditty. Sometimes he tarries by and tells old 


SKINNY AND FRECKLES?’ 


yarns for the little folks. His story is not 
long, however, for he is soon hastening away, 
tapping the stones with his cane, to chat with 
some other little coterie of friends. Uncle 
Reme ” is a stric Gallic ” as he terms it. 
And his tapping cane often leads him to the 
foot of the tabernacle. There he kneels 
and whispers and smiles, then goes away with 
a merrier pitch to his whistle and song. 

One day a strange lady stopped, our poor 
old friend on the street, and said to him 
gently, as she slipped an alms into his hand. 
How sorry I am for you, you must feel very 
lonely and gloomy, don’t you, when you can’t 
see the light? 

Me, lonely, missis ! — said old Reme 
straightening up. “ Me miss de light : No, 
chile, no ! yo’ see dere is always light inside. 
I have been blind f o’ fifty years. Ain’t seen 
no sun, no flowers, no smilin’ faces, in all dat 
time. But Reme worry neber ! I hab de 
Lord’s friendship, and in a short time I 
get my sight back again in heben. Tain’t 
necessary to see to be happy. Only one 
t’ing am nec’sary. Dat am to serbe de Lord 
an’ sabe yo’ soul !” Here old Reme showed 
his pearly teeth in a smile, and he lifted his 
hat as he shuffled away, taking up again the 
thread of his whistle and song. 

Uncle Reme is right. One thing is neces- 
103 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


sary when life for us, has eome to a close ; 
when we have wielded the hammer or turned 
the stitch for the last time ; when from be- 
hind the chaste clouds, comes the voice of the 
Master calling you to lay by your toiling and 
come aside to rest. You will not regret that 
you have been ragged and poor and allotted 
toil, if you shall have worked out your sal- 
vation. 

When the conflict is over, when those who 
loved you in life steal into your humble 
home with soft and reverent step to look for 
the last time on your features whitened and 
fixed in death’s slumber. They may see the 
poverty of your dwelling, but as they turn 
to go, with tear-dimmed eyes they can say, 
Ah, what matters it now, he led a good life, 
he has saved his soul, all will be well.” No 
orator can say greater things of you. One 
thing is necessary.” 


m 


TKHrecfts* 


INTEMPERANCE. 

Father, mama, wants to know if you 
won’t come clown and bless Mike before he 
goes ? ” sobbed a little girl, as she stood 
timidly with one band tugging at my cassock 
folds, while the other clasped about the edge 
of her snow-white apron, which she placed 
lightly to her tear-moist eyes. 

I had been standing at the window look- 
ing out upon the passing throng of young 
toilers as they skipped merrily past ^^our 
house ” on their way home from the factory. 
1 had seen the little form hastening through 
the gateway, so I ran to let the weeping 
child in. 

“ My little pet,” said I, don’t cry, tell 
me, who is Mike and where is he going ? ” 
Then, came the answer, that would melt the 
stoutest heart to pity. It was soft and low, 
but oh, it was like the liquid tone of the 
viola played by a master hand, 0 Father,” 
moaned the little mite, lifting her glistening 
eyes to me, Mike’s me brudder. He’s de 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


boy wot run away an joined de navy. He’s 
bin home now most a year. He ain’t took 
no care of hisself, and now he’s going from 
me, an’ mom ; yes, Fadder, he’s going to die. 
The doctor says surely to night. Mom feels 
awful bad, her eyes is all red from crying.” 

Ah, now I see,” said I, don’t weep any 
more, like a good little girl. I will go with 
you to bless your poor brother.” In a few 
minutes, the tears did cease to flow, just like 
the rain-drops, one by one, on an April day. 
Two little eyes began to wander about the 
room, and bless everything with a glance. 

We were soon hurrying along the street, 
the child and I, with her tiny bare hand 
pressed in my well gloved fist. I was in the 
middle of a little story, when I felt a tug at 
my sleeve, “ Here’s the house, 127, we live 
on the top floor rear. Careful, Fadder, de 
hall’s dark an de stairs is awful cracked. 
De doctor says dey twist his ankles.” 

Very well,” said I, smiling at the uncon- 
scious wit, and lifting the precious waif into 
my arms. We’ll soon be at the top.” 

I had well-nigh reached the fourth flight 
when a sudden burst of fight nearly took 
away my vision. It came from an oil-lamp 
lifted high in the air like a beacon light. 
Behind it, I caught the glare of a wan 
motherly face. Sadness had been writing 
108 


WRECKS. 


its favorite lines upon it, for many a week. 
0, Father, I’m so glad you came. My boy’s 
been asking for you all day,” came the words 
like a psalm from the mother’s heart. And 
oh ! what earnestness and faith lived in each 
syllable. Mike ! Mike ! de Father’s come,” 
said the little sister galloping into the sick- 
room and tossing herself in glee on the bed. 

Now, setting the lamp on the mantel, so 
that its brightness fell on her son’s face, like 
a gleam of the dying day, the mother sank 
into a chair and sobbed. 0, Father, you’ll 
scarcely know the child, I’m sure you won’t, 
0, he’s so changed. When he went to St. 
Mary’s school he was a good lad, that was 
nine years ago. Now, he’s not the Mike of 
old at all, at all.” ‘^See,” she went on 
mournfully, lifting back the covers, “his 
face is no longer clean and bright. It’s just 
covered with those nasty red blotches.” 
“ See, oh, my boy, there isn’t the same sweet 
tenderness for me in the darling eyes, that 
used to gladden my soul.” 

My gaze rested silently on the form before 
me, as she spoke. “ See, Father, there’s the 
badge of the St. Aloysius Society, he used 
to be a member of. It’s long been a stranger 
to his bosom.” 

Like a torrent pent up for many hours, 
the good mother’s sobs finally broke all 
109 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


bounds. Her moan was one of despair, made 
all the more heart-rending, by its blending 
with the shrill cry of the little one who had 
buried her face in mother’s apron. 

0, Mike, why did you be so foolish, why 
did you ever learn to drink ? Here you are 
only twenty. God knows you never got the 
example at home ! ” 

Here, I whispered a few soft words into 
the ear of the distracted mother. 0 that 
beautiful example of respect for the priest, 
we see ever in the Irish mother ! With a 
brave effort she quieted down, and withdrew 
from the room, giving Mike, as she did, a 
glance, that spoke volumes. 

Two rough and hardened hands I now 
softly lifted from their pressure upon the eyes 
of the penitent son. He looked into my 
eyes for an instant as though to size me up.” 
His eyes closed again, the bosom rose in a 
sigh. Christ, he, and I were alone ; alone in 
that dingy room. The unburdening of a sin- 
sick soul is such a holy thing. Earth seems 
to halt its revolutions out of respect. The 
angels, too, soften their chant and draw nigh, 
out of reverence, for the thrice holy drama, 
the good confession, the coming home of a 
sinner ! 

With a painful effort and feverish brain 
I tried to lead the wayward soul to the arms 
110 


WRECKS. 


of Jesus. It yielded, the Master folded it 
in his embrace. Once again the sweetest of 
dramas was being enacted. The thorn- 
pierced sheep and wayward, had come back 
to the pasture of clover blossoms. 

J list here, the door, as though by a ghastly 
hand, opened again. I was laying the sooth- 
ing oils on the sunken eyes and parched lips 
when the mother, worn with her vigils, came, 
and resting her poor old white head upon 
the pillow close by the flaxen hair of her 
boy, sobbed once more. But I caught a 
different melody in the second sob. It was 
like the far-off trembling note that the 
organist touches just before the Elevation. 
Those wayward feet were at last touched 
with the sacred balm, and a sigh, Thank 
God,’’ crept about my head. I think it 
came from one of the angels. 

Of all the prayers that Mother Church 
sings over her children none is so. beautiful, 
so solemn, as that she whispers over the 
face of him who lingers on the threshold of 
eternity. Ne reminiscaris Domine,” I was 
about to say when a spirit lifted my gaze 
and set it on the features of the dying boy. 
Here I paused. His right hand moved ever 
so slowly, yet ever so steadily, till it fell 
into the clasp of the withered and bony hand 
of her who had brought him into the world. 

Ill 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


He could not speak. By tliis little tenderness 
he seemed to be saying, Mother, forgive me 
for the many heart-breaks IVe caused you.’’ 
The poor old gray head moved a little, just 
enough to mingle its white strands with the 
curls of him she loved. I could see the death 
pallor stealing over the young face just as 
the ashen light of a November morn moves 
into the eastern sky. I laid my ritual aside 
and knelt to pray. At the foot of the bed, 
I saw the blond curls of the little tot scattered 
across the snow-white covers as though 
tossed by the wind. 

Lower the pallor went, the features be- 
came more rigid, the eyes opened and looked 
just once more, though languidly, on the 
face of Jesus, a sigh brushed my brow and 
Mike ” was gone, — gone away, just as his 
little sister said he would go, into eternity. 

Now came the saddest duty any priest can 
be called upon to perform, to tell the news 
to mother. Yet I paused on the threshold 
of the revelation, through pity, not through 
fear. I marvelled at the stillness of the poor 
old woman. She had been so alarmed but 
a few moments before. Ah ! ” thought I, 
she is trying by earnest prayer to reconcile 
herself to God’s will, or she has fallen off to 
sleep through sheer exhaustion.” 

The silence, at last, became painful, tragic. 

112 


•WRECKS. 


There, were the lustreless eyes of the dead 
fastened on me. The little fairy at my side 
had moved away, I knew not whither, I laid 
my hand on the saintly head bowed before 
me, T moved it gently. Yes, I had guessed 
aright. The mother was sleeping. Worn 
out by her long hours of watching and wait- 
ing, she had fallen into a restful slumber ; she 
slumbered Tis true, but the sleep she slum- 
bered knows no awakening in this life. 
Her soul went away with that of her boy. 
The dead of night had now crept on, in the 
streets few were astir. But the morning, 
the merciful messenger of hope, came at 
last. 

On that top tenement floor, where for six 
years past no gladsome smile had played, 
two forms lay. As the candles flickered 
their inconstant light over the faces, I could 
not but note the peaceful expression on the 
mother’s features. Her boy had come home 
to her at last. 

New faces and strange now make merry 
at times those scaly walls and dingy rooms, 
while far away on the hill-side the wayward 
son sleeps on beside his mother. 

Did the angels steal the tot away? No, 
they led her little footfalls into the generous 
sun-lit orphanage of Our Lady of Grace, 
where little fairies scamper about and fritter 
8 113 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and skip the hours away. The shouts and 
laughter of the babes send away all thoughts 
of sin and sorrow, for naught defiled can 
come where they are. 

There is one little tot that tarries there, 
the cutest little toad” of them all, she sings 
for us now and then a song, and she sings it 
well. The Sisters, and all her little ^ chums 
love to hear her mellow voice. I do, too. 
She sings but one song. And when she 
lifts her cute face as a birdie would, a lump 
comes into my throat, my eyes grow moist ; so. 
I go away. The others marvel why. The 
song the tot sings is, Take this letter to 
my mother.” 

Young friends, I tell you truthfully, this 
is no overdrawn picture. The actors in my 
little drama are not goblins or fantastic 
creatures with unearthly names. They are 
creatures of body and soul, even as you 
and I. 

Isn’t it sad to see one so young as ‘ Mike ’ 
was, borne to an early grave ? Isn’t it sad 
to see the white crepe on the door ? Isn’t it 
sad to see a spotless casket lowered into the 
cold earth? Yes, but oh, a thousand times 
more deplorable is it, to think that the 
young life, just come to a close, was 
hastened to its ruin by dissipation, by 
accursed drink. The white casket speaks 
lU 


WRECKS. 


volumes. It tells of years of scalding tears, 
weary nights of lone vigils by a fond mother. 

You, young folks, to whom I am speaking, 
have had, I trow, little or no experience 
with dissipation, you haven’t explored very 
far as yet into the land of unlicensed liberty. 
Good boys and girls that you are, you stand 
as the child of the king does, on an emi- 
nence at dawn. He is about to travel. Ho 
sees many roadways stretching out from the 
castle, some are bordered by palm trees, and 
flowers, and lead off to a distant city. There 
is one he sees, however, whose surface is of 
glittering gold. On the borders playful 
fountains are throwing their glistening 
waters up to kiss the sunshine, music and 
laughter echo through its boughs. I must 
mention here that the road has a steep de- 
clivity. It is short too, very short, A few, 
leagues covers its entire stretch. At the end, 
there is a cave where the mangled forms of 
thousands lie in writhing agony. 

You, young friends, now stand at the gate- 
way of manhood or womanhood. You may 
be bewildered and know not which part to 
choose. Now is the time to show your wis- 
dom. There is the road of sobriety and of 
temperance. It leads to the city of God, 
wherein peace, and eternal joy are found. 
Here is the road of intemperate pleasure. 

115 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


This is essentially short. The one who elects 
it, will be whirled along its giddy surface for 
a few swift years, but suddenly, he conies to 
the end, when the rocks are jagged, and the 
cave glutted with young souls who have 
blindly sped on to their temporal and eternal 
ruin. There is a dirge being ever swept 
through this cave. Its melody seems to 
come from hell. Its burden is remorse. It 
is time now, for you to choose your path ; for 
choose you must. 

I know not why it is, but even in my 
lonesome moods, when I catch the echo of a 
hearty rollicking laugh, my feelings swing 
into a merrier channel. The clouds lift, and 
the sun of good-humor, throws its congenial 
rays about me, once again. I may be wrong, 
but, I think with Carlyle, that no youngster 
can be depraved of heart, who can and does 
laugh through the hours of the day. 

Every evening, when the factory across 
the way empties out its precious load of little 
toilers, into the street, my goodness ! the air 
is fairly set ringing with the shouts of laugh- 
ing boys and girls. They shout and frolic, 
and so, the rhythmic music, floats along the 
street, then fades away, as the little folks 
move into the distance. 

Why, think you, young toilers, do I sand- 
wich this thought in here, in my temperance 
116 


WRECKS. 


talk? For this reason. You little folks, 
are living in the sweetest stage of your exist- 
ence. You are happy, even though you 
toil hard. Happy, I say, because the vice of 
drink, has not fastened its poisonous fangs 
upon your dear little hearts. 

Pause, silently. You know of some one 
in the zone of your acquaintances or chums, 
perhaps, who has fallen into the vice of 
drinking. Study, analyze that subject closely, 
thoughtfully. A year or so ago, he laughed 
and frolicked, like you. Then his face was 
bright, too, even as yours. But, he faltered, 
alas, he fell, a victim to the enticements of 
the saloon. Does he smile ? Does he laugh 
musically now ? No ! he cannot, for happi- 
ness, yea even peace has been driven from 
out his soul. It may never return. There 
is not the mirth of yore in his bosom. All 
is gloom, sadness, distress. 

0, what misery, then, drink can throw 
about a young soul. How it warps and 
withers the nobler sentiments of the heart 
as no other sin can do. It is vowed, that the 
young drunkard can steal by and rest his 
bleary eyes upon the face of a dead mother, 
and move away without feeling the moisture 
of a single tear. Other sins may sear the 
heart, and weaken the physical being. There 
is one, alone, that can turn the heart to 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


stone, and blast the buoyant frame, in a few 
fleeting days. Other falls may cause the 
soul anguish. The deeper its fall, the more 
piteous its cry to God for mercy. Alas ! 
drunkenness stands in a class by itself, be- 
cause of its deadliness. It will sap the pure 
blood from the young frame, till it can sap 
no longer. Then when it collapses, when 
Death with a hideous grin, comes with his 
pall, to smother out the last gleam of life, — 
when the mother of the unfortunate leads the 
priest to the bedside, alas, how often does the 
consecrated hand fall helpless as the sigh is 
heard, “ What can I do ? ’’ his brain is be- 
sotted, his soul in Satan’s grasp. 0, piteous, 
piteous tragedy ! When the end comes, 
0 God, there is a double pang for those who 
are left to mourn, the grief of death, the 
disgrace of a drunkard son or brother. 
When his miserable body, that craved con- 
stant gratification, is laid in some obscure 
plot, no flowers mark the last repose, ofttimes, 
no cross is reared in memory. Few tears 
fall as the casket is being lowered, because, 
forsooth, the departed one left behind him 
bitter memories and broken hearts. 

Let us — you and I — put our heads to- 
gether just here, and see if we can note what 
the attractive power of drink may be. Those 
foolish young men who tipple, tell us that a 
118 


WRECKS. 


few bumpers” now and then, make their 
brains swim in a sea of pleasant fantasies. 
In a word, they drink to forget their troubles, 
to gain an artificial mirth. What fools ! 
What cowards ! Every little heart must, in 
its journey through life, meet with gloomy 
hours, and trouble. How we admire the 
young soldier, who faces the music ” with- 
out flinching, with clear brain, and steady 
eye 1 At the same time, how we all look 
down with disgust upon the youngster who 
hasn’t grit enough to bear up against the trials 
of life. He must be propped up, forsooth, 
upon four or five glasses of whisky, whose 
^ firing ’ effects soon smolder away, leaving 
the nerveless wreck in a gloomier condition 
than before. I’ll bet there’s not one coward 
amongst you, my hardy young friends. Others 
drink for the pleasure of it. Pshaw, what 
pleasure is there in feeling your cheeks 
flushed for a few minutes ? In the end even 
the moderate drinker loses his genteel 
facial appearance. Some drink, they say, to 
gain strength. There is no strength or tonic 
effect of a lasting character in the stimulants 
of our day. They’re all nasty vile drugs. 

There is a craze sweeping over the country 
now, a fad, if you so choose to term it. It 
is the physical culture ” rage. Heaven bless 
the men who are responsible for this ! Boys 
119 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and girls, don’t you want to be strong and 
gracefully formed ? Don’t you want to be 
admired for your correct form and bearing? 
I’m sure you do. Wouldn’t you boys espe- 
cially like to become great athletes, so that 
the younger generation — your brothers — 
would look up to you with awe. Of course. 
Well, you can grasp all these honors, by 
temperate life, and exercise, according to 
system. There is just one thing, let me tell 
you, that will blast your hopes forever, should 
you indulge in it, and that is — drink. And 
you, girls — there is just one thing that will 
blight your fairness of feature, and comeli- 
ness of form, should you stoop to it, and that 
is, drink, accursed drink. So, boys and girls, 
be wise, even for a physical advantage. 

My home, as a boy, was near the sea. 
Through the days I often strolled to watch 
the waves come tumbling in upon the sands. 
I love to stand and watch the sea heave and 
roll. I know not why — it stirs such strange 
emotions within me. I can recall now, how 
I crept down one evening, thinking perhaps 
I would find the waves asleep. But, no, 
they were tumbling as ever, upon the shore, 
like circus clowns upon a mat. It was a 
weird night, the angry clouds kept flaring 
up into the face of the calm old moon, as 
though to tease him. He remained placid 
120 


WRECKS. 


however. Some strange voice, m fancy, tempt- 
ed me to walk along the shore, to where the 
black rocks huddled together in silence. A 
queer train of thought led me on and on. 
Suddenly the old moon, as though piqued at 
being held a prisoner, broke through the 
gloom and threw his silvery light about me. 
I was startled, I stopped. My brow grew 
chilled. I drew my hand across my eyes to 
see if I was dreaming. But no. There, 
lying before me, partly on the jagged rocks, 
was the white form of a vessel. Its sails were 
snapped from their fastenings, and flapped 
helplessly in the breeze. Like a gladiator 
whose heart has been pierced, yet who rolls 
in the death throes, so did this child of the 
sea roll and moan as it settled in its final 
stillness. A wreck ! ’’ I gasped, that was 
all I could find breath to say. Then, the 
thoughts ran wild through my brain. “ Alas ! 
I mused, this morning, in the cheery sunlight, 
and kissed by the bland breeze of heaven, 
this sweet little craft left some port, with no 
thought of ruin hovering near it. It has 
been guided amiss, poor thing,” I sighed. 
How beautiful it was, but now what a hope- 
less wreck ! 

Just then, as though catching the burden 
of my sigh, her white sides heaved again, the 
foaming waters rushed into her hold, as 
121 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


though dealing the death-blow. As they did, 
they threw into view a form I had not seen 
before. It seemed of the deepest black. I 
now shuddered again. My brain reeled. 

Heavens, what do I see ? ’’ I panted. I 
looked with a fascinated gaze straight at the ob- 
ject. Yes II saw now. It was a corpse. The 
features were youthful and white, the hair 
soft and brown. It was the lifeless form of 
a dissipated youth, for I now recognized the 
face, and I knew that this tragedy was only 
a fitting finale to his years of drinking and 
riotous living. No doubt, when the storm 
fiend had swept the craft to ruin and wreck, 
the other young revellers were steady enough 
to save themselves. But, as I learned later 
through all the hours of the day, the brain 
of the young devotee of Bacchus, had been 
besotted. Hence his ruin. 

0, what was the wreck of the pretty white 
vessel, to the wreck of the young life, that in 
the freshness of earlier days, gave such prom- 
ise of a bright future ! 

I would be pained beyond my expressing, 
my little toilers, if I thought any one of 
you were allowing yourselves to be grappled 
by the vice of drink. Never defile your 
young lips by even a taste of strong liquor. 
If you are obedient to this advice you will 
never know what deep sorrow is. The 
122 


Wrecks. 


shore of life is strewn to day with young 
lives, brought to rapid ruin by the demon 
of drink. Look about you, and see for 
yourselves the verification of my words. 
When you are enticed to take a drink, yea 
even as you hold the destroying glass to your 
lips, look across the brim. See on the wall 
the handwriting of Faith. See the picture 
she draws for you. It is Jesus hanging on 
the cross of Calvary. His blood-stained 
eyes are looking mournfully at you. He 
pleads with you not to drink the intoxicating 
glass, — yea as you stand to gratify your pas- 
sion, your Master, thorn-crowned and bleed- 
ing, moans, thirst. For you, my son, 
am I suffering. For My sake, dash that 
cup to earth. I thirst.’’ 


123 


Jerry's Glorious If^urt^ 

life’s contest. 

Too bad, Jerry, ’tain’t square to throw you 
down that way. All the boys say — and they 
know — that you’re the speediest back ” in 
the college. But, when style and money are 
in the hunt against you, you’re down and 
out.” These words hke a soothing balm, were 
poured out upon the bruised heart of a young 
athlete who sat dejectedly on the chapel 
steps with his head between his hands. The 
speaker was a good-natured, heavy-faced 
fellow, with loyalty written on every feature. 
He was about to steam up into another 
tirade against pulls,” when Jerry threw 
his head aright and said, ^^Yes, Joe. I 
feel glum. I tried hard for that position. I 
have played my best for the glory of Old 
Eli,’’ and now that the game for glory is 
on to-morrow I don’t see why I’ve been 
pushed into the ranks as a sub.” You 
know my mother is poor. I’m working my 
way through college tutoring.” You know 
that means severe mental work. Besides,” 
121 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


here J erry’s voice lowered, the boys are to 
get one hundred dollars a-piece if they win to- 
morrow. My share would make a nice 
surprise for mother. But — what^s the use of 
kicking ? I’ll be a ^ good sub ’ anyway. A 
tear now stole into Jerry’s black eye, and 
he gulped down something that seemed to 
stick in his throat. 

W ell — you’re a loyal one all right ” 
— broke in Joe. I’d quit the game if I 
were treated Hke that. No, Joe, never ! ” 
said Jerry, jumping to his feet. “I’m no 
psalm-singer, but I’m going to stick tooth 
and nail to any cause my conscience bids 
me espouse, and because of a ^ throw down’ 
I’ll not shake the boys and Captain Thorne at 
the critical moment. Rather, will I play 
the harder, should I be let in, and so prove 
my worth and my word.” “Jerry — you’re 
a brick and a born speaker,” said Joe, 
patting his friend on the shoulder. “ Well, 
I don’t know about the speaker, but I think 
myself, I’m somewhat of a brick,” retorted 
Jerry — running in a thread of laughter 
amongst his words. 

“ HeUo,” cried Joe, as he skipped across 
the path to make sure his sight was good. 
“ I’ll be blowed, here comes, ^ Brink ’ 
Thorne from the ^ gym ’ now. Both young 
chaps scurried up the path to give their chum 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the glad hand. Brink’s face, however, had 
slipped the wonted soft smile. He’s riled,” 
whispered Joe, nudging his companion. 
“ Riled ? No — I’m a maniac,” shouted 
young Thorne. The idea of those dullard 
‘ coaches ’ doing so fool a thing as that on 
the eve of our tussle with old Harvard. 
‘ Favoritism ? ’ it’s that with a vengeance. 
Jerry, the boys are with you fist and fin,” 
said the royal leader as he turned his sunny 
face into Jerry’s — Put it there, old boy,” 
the Cap ” went on. “ If I have to eat the 
the grass of the campus. I’ll have you be- 
hind the line to-morrow. You ain’t an au- 
tocrat, old chum, but you can leave ’em all 
home when it comes to playing the half-back 
role.” Jerry blushed very naturally at all 
these nice things. His eye twinkled as 
though he were going to say something in re- 
sponse, but the old bell gouged out the time 
for class, and so all thoughts flew to the 
study-hall, like pigeons going to roast. 

Down the street, a few squares away, the 
sun paused to throw its cheeriest beam into 
a room richly adorned. Within, a young 
chap sat, with face stiffened in serious 
thoughts. A polished name-plate on the 
door, told you the occupant was Claude 
Moulin. He smiled now and then, as some 
glad fantasy flitted through his memory, 
126 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


! 


The bluish smoke of a fragrant cigarette 
kept curling lazily from his hps. At last, 
as though his nomadic eyes had caught a 
half forgotten scene, he jumped from his 
leather chair and laughed. So, they say 
I couldn’t oust Jerry, eh? The puny kid. 
Well, I did it all right. As the governor ” 
often said, ‘‘ Money can make monarchs 
do stunts.” 0, to-morrow and glory ! and 
Florence will be there too.” Just here a 
sudden rap sounded heavily on the panel. 
The door was pushed widely open, and a 
wild-eyed Soph ” yelled Get a move on 
yo’, Claude. Class is going on and you’re 
up for recitation to day.” 

The young otiose didn’t get a move on,” 
as might be expected. He simply yawned 
and drolled, All right. Ducky, I’ll be 
there.” 

# * * * * 

The day of the great game dawned brisk 
and clear. Groups of strenuous students 
were up before the sun, and their class-yells 
worked like the puff of an engine. The 
hours preceding great events always drag 
slowly, especially for those who are to take 
part in them. The moment came at last, 
when the maddened human torrent began to 
surge and writhe into the vast amphitheatre. 
For thrill, for emotion, perhaps, there are 
127 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


few scenes to be compared with a ’Varsity 
football game. Tragedies and comedies 
are not in it. From a distant view-point 
the mass of agitated humanity looked like a 
million of insects crawling over one another 
in a confused way. The blowing of trumpets 
and horns, split the frosty air. The mar- 
shal tones of band music fought for su- 
premacy with one another, but all were swept 
away into chaos, by the roar and shriek of 
thirty thousand heavy voices. 0, it is a 
glorious thing to feel the blood tingle and 
the brow throb with enthusiasm, let the cause 
be what it may. So, like the deep roar of 
the mighty sea, the tornado of sound cleared 
all before it, swept away, and lost itself in 
the hills miles afar. 

The supreme moment was close at hand. 
Suddenly the north gate swung open, and a 
small army of modern gladiators rushed on 
the field. Their breasts were guarded in 
leathern jackets, their well developed limbs 
were shown forth in royal crimson. And 
now like a storm that the mariner thinks 
has passed on to the west, but which sud- 
denly turns and lashes the waves with greater 
fury, so the cheers break forth from the 
north side of the field, and the crimson flags 
quivered with a seeming nervousness. But 
calm soon spread her mystic wand over the 
128 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


multitude, and all grew still, as the young 
giants ambled about in preliminary practice. 
All eyes now switched to the south gate. 
Here they come, boys ! ’’ shouted a shrill 
voice, and it swayed into power, the thou- 
sands of Yale rooters. On, on, they trotted, 
the sturdy little men in blue, with faces 
white in determination. Again the storm 
fiend was roused from his den. Again a 
mighty roar burdened with a different song 
trembled the very ground. But, as before, 
it died away, and the two teams, in answer 
to a shrill whistle faced each other for the 
fray. They leaped forward. They’re off ! ” 
cried a stout man who owned horses. Crash ! 
they met in hand to hand combat. They 
swayed like a tottering house, then all fell 
in a confused heap. 

Every few minutes the question could be 
heard. Where’s Jerry, Yale’s star half- 
back ? ” Some thought he may have been 
injured, but no, he lay along the side-lines 
watching the fray, with the glance of a tiger. 
0, how his heart thumped to get into the 
game ! His place, however, was filled by the 
lanky effeminate Claude Moulin. The game 
now, was at its height. The “ rooters ” on 
each side, were calling to their favorites to 
tear ’em up ” and other unusual things. 
The lines fell back with soldierly precision, 
9 129 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


then sprang ahead and clashed as before. 
Many fell again, bruised and sore, but they 
rose quickly, at the call of their captain. 
All this while, the scene about the fringe of 
the field no one could describe. The cheers 
lost their rhythm and order, and each one 
was shouting for himself, go at ’em, eat 
’em up ! lay him low,” and the like, all of 
which are considered good football parlance. 

It could be seen now, that Harvard was 
forcing back her blue-clad opponents inch 
by inch to the line of defeat. ‘‘ They’ve got 
the beef,” cried a youngster in a red sweater. 
At last, but five yards stood between Harvard 
and glory. Again, the panting young ath- 
letes fell back formed, and crouched. Like 
a flash, a young brave, with a patch over his 
eye, came tearing through the centre. He 
was making straight for the goal. Down 
him ! Hold him ! Down him ! ” came the 
pleading cry from fifteen thousand Yale 
voices. One man alone was in the path of 
the runner. It was Claude Moulin. The 
Harvard back sped on as if his feet were lit 
with the fire of Mercury. Bang ! — they 
clashed, they fell, they rolled. Claude’s at- 
tempt at tackling was certainly a poor one. 
Harvard had scored. The score stood four 
to nothing. 

M^diie^s puce more ruled earth sky, 
13Q 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


An abyss was stretched between the two 
forces. On one side sat Glory, Joy, Fame. 
On the other Gloom, Dejection, Despair. 

Just here, a shrill note told that the first 
half of the conflict was over. The young 
Trojans of each side, made their way to their 
respective club-houses, where the mud and 
sweat, and, in some cases, blood, were wiped 
from their faces, by loving hands. 

Courage, boys,” said Captain Thorne, as 
he, with his men, started for the field to 
begin the second half, we’re not beaten 
yet. Play for the ends. Pocket that vicious 
kid on the left and we’ll score all right.” 
For the first time the breeze caught the 
melody of a lighter song, Fair Harvard ” 
was the psalm, and it seemed now, that she 
was to bear away the palm of victory. 

With a feeling akin to desperation. The 
supporters of Yale called to their brothers 
to lift their standard from the mire of dis- 
grace. The young bucks ” were certainly 
doing their best. Their teeth and eyes were 
now set for the final assault. The moments 
sped on. The day was declining. Already 
the shadows of evening were stealing across 
the heavens like tots going to early bed. 
Step by step, the boys in blue were forced 
back, tearing, struggling, almost in tears. 
Here, lull came in the fray, Captain Thorne 
131 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


went hurriedly over to the side-lines, and held 
a whispered consultation with the head Yale 
advisers. In a flash, Brink’s face lit up with 
hope. Claude Moulin was being called off 
for poor playing, and Jerry was given his 
place. Jerry is behind the line,” was now 
passed through the throng, like a travelling 
forest flame. Jerry ! Jerry ! J erry ! Jerry ! ” 
came the locomotive cheer that shook the 
heavens. 

When the blood-stained eyes of Captain 
Thorne looked wearily across the stretch, 
that stood between his men and the goal of 
victory, he almost despaired. Like a dying 
warrior, in whose soul there lives just one 
spark of hope, he turned his pallid face to 
Jerry, and said, For God’s sake, Jerry, save 
the day if you can.” Our little friend rubbed 
his hands and smiled. The billows of shout 
and song again rose in a deep diapason tone, 
as the cohorts locked arms in the final few 
minutes of play. Young Harvard backers, 
crazed with enthusiasm, with a little of some- 
thing else to help along, began to surge to' 
the field-sides, ready when the game was 
done, to fold their champions in their arms, 
and bear their tired forms away to feasting 
and song. 

A breathless stillness now held. You 
could hear the panting of the tired players, 
132 


JERRY’S aLORlOtrs RUI^. 


Hark ! Look ! what is that ? ye gods, hold 
him, tackle him ! 0 Harvard ! lay him low ! ” 

The frantic appeal went the rounds, Jerry 
had caught the ball on the enemies’ five-yard 
line, and dashing forward, had tricked all his 
tacklers save one. On ! on ! on ! he flew, 
blest by the hopeful prayers of fifteen thou- 
sand Yale hearts. Could he escape the out- 
stretched arms of Captain Trafford, the crim- 
son general ? Nearer, they came ; fiercely, 
did they glare at each other, like an escaping 
tiger glares at its keeper. Clash ! they fell. 
Like a young hare, J erry had regained his 
feet. On ! on ! on ! he darted across the 
huge gridiron straight to the goal-line. The 
score was now a tie. Young men sprang up 
and hugged one another in locked embrace. 
Old men, white-haired sons of Eli, whose 
memories carried them back to the days when 
the game was played with bare shins — rubbed 
their eyes and sniffed to hold back the tears. 
Young women, who knew not much of the 
game, cried that Jerry was greater than 
Napoleon. While the pandemonium swung 
its mighty power, and the youngsters were 
blowing ‘^whistles” through their fingers. 
Captain Thorne lay on the ground with the 
ball poised between his hands. Jerry stood 
back a few yards. Could he send the sphere 
spining between the goal-posts ? If he 
133 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


could, victory would be Yale’s, for it meant 
two points more. The mystic wand passed 
over the maniacal throng, and stillness came 
once more. 

Like a young leopard of the jungle creep- 
ing on to sink its teeth into its victim, so 
Jerry crouched, shot forward, with nervous 
step. His foot swung against the insensible 
sphere. It rose like a falcon. On, on, on, 
straight as a rifle shot, it flew between the 
posts, and Dame Fortune turned with a soft 
smile, and calmly placed the diadem of victory 
on the brow of Yale. ’Rah for Jerry ! 

Little toiling friends, I have spun this 
yarn for a purpose. It is this : — I want to 
impress you with the thought that this life 
is a veritable contest, a struggle. And just 
as the good football player, when thrown 
as he speeds toward his goal, only rises again 
and more resolutely renews the attempt, so 
you, little toilers, must realize that in life’s 
contest, you will be thrown many times by the 

tackles ” of temptation and trial. Will 
you, then, lie supine and disheartened ? No, 
no. Emulate Jerry; be up and at it. The 
way to salvation is a series of falls, rises and 
falls again, and only he who has the grit to 
brave many tumbles, will make finally the 
run that will land him into the kingdom of 
heaven. 


134 



On ! on ! on ! he darted across the huge 
gridiron straight to the goal-line. 


^HORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERg. 

Yes, I vow, life is a contest, not against 
an enemy whom we can slash with sword or 
sabre, but against one ; who skulks in the 
dark, and attacks us on the moment we relax 
our vigilance. As Chimmy ’’ would say, 
he soaks us in the hack.” Big folks have 
often accused us younger people, of being 
dreamers or castle-builders. Now, I’d like 
to deny this taunt if I could, but, do you 
know, I can’t. Many of us, especially in our 
first years out of school, paint for ourselves 
a little ideal world. We seem to cling to 
the notion, I know not why, that there is an 
affinity between us and the birdies and 
fairies. That we, like they, can soar about 
in May breezes, and when we tire of them, 
all we have to do, is to lie down and slumber 
in peace, while tiny gauzy cherubs will come 
and waft our spirits into a dreamland. Alas 
for our fitful fancies. 

“ Life is real I Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 

‘ Dust thou art, to dust returnest.’ 

Was not spoken of the soul.” 

As soon as our little fists are able to clinch, 
we must start to swing them against the 
enemy of our souls, — the world. How do I 
know? Christ has said that there would al- 
ways be enmity between His spirit and that 
136 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


of the world. I hope I haven’t saddened 
you, by shattering any of your ideals. But, 
it is well to chase away, now in your sterner 
years, those fairy notions of the world that 
you gleaned in the nursery. St. Paul, who 
is always saying bright and wise things to 
young folks, turns his beaming face to you 
just here, and tells you what he thinks about 
life’s contest. 

In his time, throughout Greece, the custom 
prevailed of holding games in which the 
best athletes would take part. I think St. 
Paul, as he travelled from city to city, must 
have noted what a deep interest the people 
took in these contests. He noted how the 
great wrestler would hie himself to the 
quiet country, months previous to the test, 
and then by a system of exercise and diet, 
harden his muscles, and tone up his system 
to the point of perfection, or pink of con- 
dition,” as you boys would call it. I sup- 
pose, on seeing the enthusiasm that was 
vented over these trivial affairs by the popu- 
lace, he sighed : W ould that my spiritual 
children had shown the same degree of care 
in fitting their souls for their spiritual or- 
deals as these athletes do for their perform- 
ances.” So, I suppose, on the instant, he 
became fired with holy zeal, and going into 
the city of Corinth, he made the people 
13T 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


tremble with his forceful eloquence. I would 
loved to have lived in St. PauFs time, just 
to take down all his ringing sermons. 

Know you not/’ he said one day, that 
they who run in the race, all indeed run, 
but one receiveth the prize ? So run, that 
you may obtain. . . , I therefore so run, not 
as an uncertainty ; I so fight, not as one beat- 
ing the air.” 0 what a lot there is in this last 
little sentence, especially for the boys ! You 
have seen fights” and you have been made 
to smile at times in noting how one of the 
scrappers ” ran in with his head down, and 
swinging his arms like the spokes of a wheel, 
exhausting himself, but never hitting his 
opponent. So in our spiritual life, young 
friends, how many of you do naught but 
beat the air, — that is, wish to become pious, 
chaste young followers of Christ, but stop 
there, without delivering a knock-out blow, 
to the very base passion that is getting the 
mastery over you, and is dragging you inch 
by inch nearer to hell. But, I chastize 
my body,” St. Paul continues, and bring it 
into subjection.” Here there is the very 
pith of fife’s contest, bringing your body 
into subjection. And oh, what a glorious 
fight it is ! for it is not confined to rounds, 
like the prize-fight of to-day. No, it is to 
continue until the Heavenly Referee calls 
138 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


time, and sends death to fold you away to 
rest. 

Pause here, and see which of the contend- 
ing forces is ahead in the combat just now, 
your soul or your body. Whose impulses 
have you hearkened to most until now, those 
of your animal bodies or those of your 
spiritual soul? Alas, your soul must win. 
It must bear away the prize in the end, or 
else all will be lost ! 

Is the body, the receiver of all your 
care ? If it is, then, I pray you, turn a 
helping hand to your soul. Its health and 
happiness are all important. For the lust- 
ful body soon falls, as the hewn tree, and 
rots, and the soul, if neglected, is dragged to 
torture in hell. For the spirit-loving, on the 
other hand, the body slumbers peacefully 
after the toiling is done, and the righteous 
soul is borne by angels into the bosom of 
God. 

Many of you, mayhap, frown as you wade 
through these lines, and take my talk too 
seriously. Let me say, little toilers, if such 
be your thought, that I liold you to be tots 
no longer. You have reached the confines 
of manhood and womanhood. Hark to the 
voice of St. Paul : When a child, I spoke 
as a child, and ran after the simple things of 
childhood. Now, having grown into sterner 
139 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


years, I put off the frivolous things of 
youthful times, and consider the mightier 
goods of my soul.” 

Do you all, then, emulate the Great 
Apostle, at least in this chapter, and dwell 
upon the all important truth, I would have 
you ponder. 

^^So run, that you may obtain.” So speed 
through the world, spurning its softness, its 
sensuality, as the athlete of old, that you may 
win the crown of unfading glory. 

I catch sight again of my little ruddy-face 
Jerry beaming at me, like a little darky 
smiling over the fence at a melon-patch. 
The scene fades. The years whiz by and 
again I catch sight of him, making that 
glowing run down the field, tossing his 
tacklers right and left. Go it, Jerry, you 
have set an imperishable example to all 
youngsters. 

If you youthful workers in life’s combat 
will only dig your heels in the sod and push 
on to the goal of your existence, the gate of 
heaven, fifteen thousand angels will applaud 
your run, and the Great Captain, who wit- 
nesses your effort, will crown you, not with 
myrtle-boughs, but with an eternal diadem of 
glory. 

Your Loving Lord is looking down upon 
you, from the grand-stand of Paradise. He 

m 


JERRY’S GLORIOUS RUN. 


is hidden in the radiance that issues from the 
everlasting Throne, about which a deep 
stillness holds. 0, how good will it be, if 
when this troublesome life is over, we, in our 
turn, also, shall enter into that same rest ! All 
through the day, I know, we are tempted 
and tried in various ways. We cannot 
think, speak, or act, but enticement and sin 
are at hand. But in the unseen world, 
across the line,’’ all is peace. There is 
the eternal Throne. There — they, who have 
won in the contest, shall hunger no more, 
nor thirst, and they shall lay aside their little 
implements of toil, and cool their brows and 
fevered hands in living water. There — is no 
mor^e death, neither, sorrow nor weeping, for 
all these things shall then have passed away. 

That is our home, young friends; that 
abode is what we are striving for. Here, 
we are but on a pilgrmage, and the Master 
is calling us home. Let us work for Him 
while the day lives. Yea, more, let us fight 
for Him while we can. If this life is to be 
a combat for heaven and for Christ, let none 
of us be called quitters,” for — 

“ There is no ‘ easy way ’ to follow Him, 

No resting place 

Upon His road ! but, though the way be long, 

The battle is not always to the strong, 

Nor to the swift, the race. 

141 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Lift up your cross ^ poor child 
Nor fear to face ; 

Unquestioning obedience is best. 

Strength will be given you, and for the rest, 
Trust God for all.” 


142 


Ube prince anb Ube Xambs. 

HOLY COMMUNION. 

There was a time, although, I declare, I 
can scarcely believe it, when in a certain 
part of the earth, a king ruled, who never 
knew what it was to be harsh or cruel. Who, 
when he strolled along the highway, would 
bow to the daisies and daffodils and say 
cute things to them, only to get a sweet 
little curtsey ’’ in return. He had no such 
things as dungeons, or lictors, or racks, 
because there were no wicked ones to punish 
or kill. Neither had sickness yet shown its 
blanched face to the world. So, you can 
see, as a result, no colleges of medicine were 
erected, in which to educate young men in 
the art of mixing things.” For even if 
they did, no one would taste their horrid 
drugs.” 

Of course, I will admit, that death, at 
stated times, would stalk forth with his 
mournful call to claim his victims. But the 
grim reaper behaved himself better, in those 
times, than he does nowadays. Of yore, he 
143 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS 


never went out with a ghastly scythe, ^Hook- 
ing for trouble ” as he does now. Nor was 
he ever known to snatch away a budding 
youth. Then he minded his own business 
— as the girls would term it — and simply, 
now and then, in a suave way, he would re- 
quest all those who had reached the four 
score limit, to make haste, and move into his 
bailiwick. Of course, no one would ever 
think of slighting his summons, and so you 
can see how it is that in the book ^^De 
senectute you never read of any one 
living over the age of one hundred. 

Yes. I assure you, the final slumber 
came only at the end of a happy life just 
as night comes now at the end of day. You 
will smile to hear, too, that in those merry 
decades, no such things as fish-hooks could 
be found in the land. When one went 
fishing, it was necessary merely to wink at 
the plump little porgies desired, and they 
would instantly shoot to the surface and 
flop in your hand as though tamed. Thus 
you see in those cloudless days the phrase 
“ use no hooks ” would be quite meaning- 
less. 

W ell, the regal old man whom I am eu- 
logizing had the good fortune to receive a 
most expressive name at his christening. He 
was called Twat ’’ which is an archaic form 
144 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


o£ the word gentle.” Indeed, he was de- 
serving of the name that the fates fastened on 
him, for he was in very truth a merciful ruler. 
Nor think you that his glorious name is fated 
to die without posterity having a hark to its 
euphonic ring. No. I mean, you will not 
see the good king’s name on memorial 
tablets. But that is due to the fact that being 
modest, he vowed that no granite should be 
raised to his memory, and that history should 
not be bothered with keeping track of his 
deeds. Albeit, I am glad to say that the 
present generation of hero-worshippers, have 
paid no attention to the demure request of the 
goodly king, for, know you, they have en- 
graven his shining face on every pack of 
playing cards that is disseminated throughout 
the world. 

If you have ever handled a pack of cards, 
you no doubt have seen a picture of our 
doughty old ancestor. On the corner of 
some of his pictures, artists have put a 
heart, taking this to show that deeds of 
big-heartedness were his chief characteristics 
Others of another school of impressionists, 
typefy him by a diamond, meaning thereby 
to commemorate the fact that in his reign, 
these precious pearls grew plentifully, as 
gooseberries do now. Again, we see, on 
close sight, that near his beaming face, there 
10 145 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


is a spade, — ah ! this leads our thoughts to 
the happy times when graves were dug only 
at the terminal of five-score years. The 
fourth symbol, which modernists call a club, 
but which is, in very truth, a clover-leaf, 
keeps us from forgetting the fact that in 
those years, the lambs and kine browsed on 
the sweetest of clover. 

You never knew before, did you? how 
pregnant with meaning a pack of cards 
was? 

Well now, I do declare, my thoughts are 
galloping away from me like little mice let 
out of a trap. I really didn’t intend to speak 
at such great length of king ‘ Twat.’ How- 
ever, I am sure, what I have said of him is 
right good. Like every other mortal, the 
kind old ruler drifted along the years, until 
at last he came to that insurmountable 
barrier, the five-score mark, laid down as the 
last stop ” for the living. When death’s 
murky shadows began to throw their heavy 
forms about his brow, he blew a trumpet 
made of a ram’s horn and called his two sons 
Mercenario and Mitis, to his bedside. But 
why enter into details, and picture a deathbed 
scene? No, I shan’t. I will simply pick out 
the essentials. 

The dying king said feebly to his two off- 
spring. hat will you, my sons, as your 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


life portions ? ’’ Mercenario spoke up briskly 
and said, 0 father, to me give all the gold 
and diamonds of the earth.’’ Be it as you 
say,” quoth the royal parent. Turning his 
languid gaze upon Mitis he asked, as of his 
brother. Mitis really astonished all, by 
pleading to be given the twenty little lambs, 
that were then nibbling in the clover-fields. 

Be it as thou wilt,” the king made answer. 
Then, he died, and of course was buried 
with due pomp. 

Well, what did the two sons do with their 
gifts ? Now, please don’t expect me to picture 
the life of Mercenario. He went round the 
world hckety-split,” grasping all the gold 
and diamonds. And you know what a young- 
ster with a heap of money, and a dearth of 
brains is likely to do. So, let us turn our 
gaze to Mitis. His name gives us an insight 
into his character. He was mild, chaste. 
He loved the flowers, the brooks — above all, 
his little lambs. He slept no more in the 
tapestried halls of the castle. No, rather he 
abode under the canopy of heaven. In the 
sunlight by day and the starlight by night. 
Wherever he roamed, he coaxed his little 
lambs after him. You will not marvel why 
this good Prince could so easily be content 
to roam with his pets, when you learn that 
they could chat with him in the lamb lan- 
147 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


guage, for the Prince had learned it. So the 
days never dragged along heavily. 

At last, the heart of Mitis surged with 
desire to go around the world, and tell every- 
body what a lovable little flock he had, and 
how it is possible for even a Prince to be 
content with God’s humblest creatures. So 
he went forth, staff in hand, from village to 
village. In summer-time, he would ask his 
little pets to come to the green and go 
through funny antics, just to please the poor 
children. This they would do, and the tots 
of the poor would laugh, till they rolled on 
the ground, like little weevils. Through the 
bleak winter-time. Prince Mitis would go 
with his fold to the mountain-sides, where- 
on the very needy were wont to tarry. 
There, he would sheer the woolly backs of 
the tender lambs, and spin scarfs and togas, 
and stockings, for the suffering people. 
They in turn, would sing benedictions upon 
his head, and upon the lambs. 

One night, the ghost of his father the 
king, appeared to him and told him that he 
should go in quest of Mercenario his brother, 
who was wasting his substance living riot- 
ously. Mitis kissed his lambs good-bye and 
was soon scurrying along the highway. Of 
course the little pets cried and cried until the 
night-winds took up their sad refrain also, 
148 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


You would pity to see their little faces turned 
toward the mountain, over which Mitis had 
climbed, hoping ever to catch sight of 
the kind shepherd or hear his tender call. 
The hours grated on, and their master came 
not. Mind you, it was cold, in the winter 
weather, that Mitis journeyed in obedience 
to the quest of his father. By hour, and 
by minute, the bleating of the poor, little 
abandoned ones became more and more 
subdued. 

At last, one night, when old ^olus in an 
unguarded moment had let out his most 
cantankerous whirlwind, and snowflakes had 
joined forces with the runaways to make the 
world shiver, the fatherless little flock turned 
their faces no more to the mountain-top, but 
closing their tearful eyes, and bending their 
weakened knees, they lay down to die. I am 
pleased to say, that in seeming sympathy for 
the dying little pets, the winds tempered their 
icy blasts, in fact ceased their howling alto- 
gether, and hastened back to their caves, with 
long faces. The snowflakes too, began to 
tarry and play about, softly whispering to 
one another, let us wait till they are dead, 
then we shall spread over them a mantle of 
spotless white.” The dawn was jast coming 
on, when a trumpet note was heard. Ah, it 
is some cruel mountaineer, with his dogs com- 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


ing to devour the dying little lambs.” No, 
they fancied wrong. It was a note that fell 
like a welcome psalm on despairing souls. It 
was the call of Mitis returning. Well did he 
remember the spot near the head of the 
chasm. As he SAvept into view the sun rose 
over the peaks. 

Tears Avelled in the eyes of Mitis the gentle, 
and he stood for a space, silently looking 
doAvn on his prostrate little flock. Mer- 
cenario, alas, my brother I found dead from 
his wantonness and excesses in living, oh, sad 
death ! I return to my loved lambs and I 
find them dying too.” 

A voice now came like a moan in answer 
to his soliloquy. Yes, Mitis, we are dying, 
we could not live without your care.” The 
good Prince, maddened by remorse, now 
rushed to Thorgotna the soothsayer of the 
village. In an instant, telling her of his 
sorrowing, and giving her nine nuggets of 
gold, she said, I grieve to declare it, 0 
noble Prince, but your lambs will die, unless 
they eat of a morsel of your own very flesh, 
and sip a little of your own very blood.” The 
brow of Mitis, now chilled at the exorbitant 
demand cruel fate had set to him. Yet,” 
said he (lord that he Avas), this shall I do 
to save my pets from starvation.” So, leap- 
ing from rock to rock, he Avas soon at the 
15Q 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


side of liis fleecy little lambs, who seemed 
truly dead. Hark ! No, their little hearts 
still beat. 

Mitis now whipped out his sabre, and with 
a blow cleaved off his left hand. The drip- 
ping blood reddened the snow. He winced 
with pain. Yet, hastening, he touched the 
lips of each of his darlings with a piece of 
the flesh, and some drops of the blood. 
Marvellous to tell ! Like a spark that in a 
moment sends the flames heavenward, a new 
thrill of life shot through every fibre of the 
famishing lambs. They arose and frolicked 
about Mitis, and told him (though knowing 
not what it was), that the mere taste of the 
precious food had snatched them from cruel 
death. The noble Prince smiled faintly and 
said, Come, let us hasten beyond the pass 
from the chill plain into the land of Ophir, 
where sunshine, honey and song ever live.” 
So, they went. Ere we set out,” said a 
baby lamb, purring against the Prince’s 
buskin, bless us with your staff.” Be it 
so,” he smiled. But, as he raised his arm 
aloft, the loving eyes of his flock following 
the movement, saw that his hand had been 
cleaven off. Now it dawned on one and all 
like a flash, what a sacrifice the master had 
made for them, and falling on their knees, 
they besought Thargoma, to come and heal 
151 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the wounded hand. And she did come, good 
old soul, like an echo upon a sound, and tak- 
ing some wool from each of their backs she 
touched the injured member of Mitis, and lo, 
the hand that had been cut therefrom, grew 
again upon the wrist like a lily blooming 
from its stalk. Then, amidst gladness and 
song, they took up their journey into Fra- 
grant-land, where they lived in peace, until 
their master drew nigh to the prescribed age 
of five-score years. As he came to his last 
second, think you he died like his father and 
brother ? No. A legion of radiant spirits 
came, and folding their wings about him, 
carried him beyond the clouds. The loving 
little flock, just as you may suppose, cried 
their eyes out at his going away, but Thor- 
goma soothed their hearts again with some 
of the drops of blood that she had secretly 
kept from the wound of Mitis. Once they 
had tasted this their sorrow was turned into 
joy, and no man seemed able to take it from 
them thereafter. 

Dear little toiling friends, I fancy I see 
on your honest little faces a holy smile at 
my simple tale. A smile, not of doubt, but 
one that is born of the thought, that you 
have a Prince, who loves you as Mitis did 
his fleecy flock, and one who has raised you 
oftentimes from spiritual death, by giving 


THE PRINCE AND THE LaMBS, 


you His flesh and blood to sustain your 
fainting hearts. Yes, you have guessed it. 
You are thinking of Jesus, who so often 
thrills your souls, with joy in Holy Com- 
munion. 0, if you will only reahze the ten- 
derness of the Lord Beloved to you in the 
Sacrament of His Love, how happy I will be. 

What is your life, but a trudging through 
a wintry desert, and would you not have 
grown faint oftentimes, if the Master had 
not thrilled your tender hearts with that 
thrice holy food, The Bread of Angels.” 

It seems that, just as soon as I sit down 
to chat to young folks on the Holiest 
Sacrament, I can sing but one song. This 
is the one that recalls the First Communion 
Day.” Ah, I cannot help it. I think it is 
the very apex-moment of a child^s bliss in 
this world. I am sure it was for you too. 
The music, the fragrance of the morn, have 
scarcely left you. You look across a few 
years, and call back that sweetest of hours, 
when the Master came, and folded you to 
His bosom for the first time. You recall 
how spotless your little veils and jackets 
were, even like your souls within. You re- 
call, how you prepared for the holy moment, 
how you scoured your little hearts again and 
again, by contrition and confession, till they 
were shining in God’s sight. The glad 
163 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


morning at last broke. From the church, 
the chimes pealed. You walked up the aisle 
beside your young companions, you seemed 
to tread on clouds. The heavens were 
almost emptied of angel-choirs. And the 
choicest ones came to cluster about the taber- 
nacle, and sing, and sweep their lyres, just 
to gladden your souls at the moment your 
Beloved entered in. A perfume swept 
through the air about you. You seemed to 
be lifted from earth, and I know, if you 
could, you would have begged one of that 
Seraphim to steal you away from your 
little companions and tuck you away some- 
where in Paradise. But no. The Shepherd 
wants His lambs to follow Him into the 
country of sunshine, just as the fold followed 
Mitis through the pass into the country of 
Ophir. And strange too, you have never 
been able to picture in words, just what 
that holy feeling was, that stayed with you, 
while your Lord was in your bosom. You 
betrayed it in sentiment, but never in word. 

Lord, I am not worthy,” was the burden 
of your sigh. When the supreme moment 
came, too holy for the world to witness, you 
felt, 0 so happy, ’tis true, but you wept just 
a few tiny tears, and as they fell, you found 
that the pearly drops lit upon the moist 
features of the rose that graced your bosom, 
154 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


0 that this life could be one long Com- 
munion Day ! If it were, there would be no 
need of sighing for heaven. Now it just 
dawns on me, why it was the Master said. 

Unless you become as little children, you 
shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.’^ 
It was because, there is no difference between 
a saintly child, and an angel. 

That First Communion Day is past. Will 
one as joyful ever come again ? Yes, but 
not on this side of the grave. There are just 
two occasions, when the Christian soul feels 
an inexpressible thrill. One, is the day I 
have tried to picture. The other is the mo- 
ment the soul beholds for the first time the 
brilliancy of Paradise, and hears the words 
soft and sweetly spoken : Come, ye blessed 
of My Father.” I presume your little hearts 
are fashioned very much the same as my 
own. So, I say there are just two things, 
that always make my eyes moist. One is, 
to kneel in the Sanctuary and see little ones 
coming timidly to receive the Lord’s kiss, 
and the other is, — well, guess, — It’s sweet 
music. 

Why, do you suppose, I have spoken at 
so great a length on Holy Communion 
Day ” ? Just this, so that the contrast that 
has come over you with the years, may rush 
in upon you, and terrify you. You loved 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


our Divine Master then. Do you now ? Sin 
saddened you then. Does it now ? Reflect 
deeply on these things. You, little toilers, 
are in the front rank of Christas Army. 
You are the flower of the legion of Holy 
Faith. The older folks are passing on to 
the grave, bearing many scars from battles 
for Christ and for His Church. You stand 
ready for the bugle-call, to leap into the 
fray. 0, if your souls are not vahant and 
strengthened with the blood of Christ, how 
can you push on to conquer the enemy? 
To whom will our Holy Mother look for 
intrepid soldiers, if not to you ? So hearken 
to the words of your Leader : Unless you 
eat of the flesh of the Son of man, and drink 
His blood, you shall not have life in you.’’ 

You know, even as I, the story of the 
journey of Moses to Pharao. How he feared 
to encounter the furious king. But while 
his heart was faintest, the Lord said to him : 

Go, I will be with you.” Instantly, 
all fear left his soul, and he became the 
hardy leader of his people. So, you who 
stand trembling, mayhap, on the eve of 
your battle with a sensual and unbelieving 
world ; must hearken to the same strains that 
the Master chants to you, Go, I will be 
with you. Your hearts I shall strengthen 
with the heavenly manna — My own Body 
156 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


and Blood.” Why then need you fear, 0 
ye of little faith ? If Christ is with you, 
who can overcome you ? 

I have said some things to convince my 
young friends, that the frequent receiving of 
Holy Communion is of vital importance at this 
stage of your lives. Let me now proceed, and 
level my questions right at you. Do you 
hasten now to the Banquet of Love with 
the same leaping hearts and peaceful faces, 
that you did a year or so ago ? Do you 
still grasp the tremendous holiness ? Do you 
prepare for your Lord’s coming now, as you 
did for His first visit? 0 fear exceedingly, 
if you cannot answer these questions, with an 
affirmative. 

Friendship, I have ever held as a sacred 
thing. He who would forsake a friend or 
show coldness to him, is indeed bereft of the 
holiest impulses of soul. Your Loving 
Master calls to you, Come to me, all ye who 

labor, and are burdened heavily, and I will 
refresh you. Come, ye little ones who toil ; 
alas, the world offers no balm to quiet your 
feverish hearts.” Ah ! sad to say, there are 
some, nowadays — even as those of old — who 
make excuses. 0 Master, I am strong 
enough, I need not your heavenly bread.” 
Then remember that ingratitude — a trait of 
heart bated by the world — is one no less 
157 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


contemned by Our Lord Himself. I fancy, 
the time will come when His Divine lips will 
tire calling to His little friends to come to 
Him. I fancy, that one day the burden 
of His call shall be changed. I fancy, that 
the hour will dawn, when His face will no 
longer beam in tenderness, or his arms be out- 
stretched, — yea, when He shall cry : De- 
part from me, ye ungrateful children. I 
offered you My very self, to be your support 
in the battle of life and you turned from 
Me, even as I shall now turn from you. 
Depart.” 

Like the physician, who, at times, must 
give drastic doses to some patients, so do I 
realize, that some souls being sluggish, need 
a sharp specific to arouse them from their 
lethargy. I know my scolding words will 
fit but few of you, wlierefore am I glad. 

You have heard the story of Jacob’s 
dream, and how he saw a golden ladder 
leading from the place whereon his head 
rested, even to the throne of God. All the 
while myriads of angels ascended and de- 
scended as though they fain would carry him 
to eternal rest. Little friends, each worthy 
Communion you make, is a step nearer to 
Paradise. You know not, neither I, whether 
your ladder be fitted with many or few 
roulids, But; remember, there are two 


THE PRINCE AND THE LAMBS. 


great Communion days for us all. The first, 
I have pictured, and the sweet memory of it 
still sweeps through your souls. 

There is another Communion day, that 
one on which your Sacramental Lord shall 
come for the last time. Yes, the flesh of 
Christ will again be given you to eat, and His 
blood be given you to drink, but it will be 
when you stand with face turned from earth 
and riveted on Eternity. I wonder will we 
all be given the grace of the second great 
Communion Day ? 

We will, if we have loved to receive the 
Lord into our hearts frequently through life. 
And it will not be given us if we have 
tarried long from His Holy Table through 
the years of life. The First Communion 
you received while the hearts of your parents 
and friends leaped with joy. The second 
you will receive, when the same dear ones 
shall encircle your couch, and stir the air with 
their soft and soul-felt sobs. Yes, even like 
earthly lovers, your Divine Master will love 
you in proportion as you love Him. Some 
say even more. 

Therefore, dear little toilers, grasp the 
holiness of the Blessed Sacrament once for 
all. Let no month pass without receiving 
your Lord. Then you will be enabled to 
put down with ease your many temptations, 
159 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Your faith will grow more fervent the while, 
and when the final call comes, you will go 
forth from this land of toil, bearing the 
palm of victory — into the arms of your 
gentle Master, who tarried so many years in 
the House of Love, just to be near you, — 
His Little Friends. 


1 



160 


an^ bis Bog. 


LITTLE THINGS. 

Under his tattered little overcoat, close 
to his soft young heart, Paddy pressed his 
fondest treasure. Poor little ^ Nig,’ you’re 
shiverin’ awful. Never mind, we’ll be home 
soon, an’ den I’ll give yo’ a whole quart o’ 
milk if yo’ want it.” So spoke the proud 
owner of Nig ” to the tiny pet wedged into 
his coat-pocket. It was early Saturday 
morning, and as yet not many of de fel- 
lers ” were astir. So, Paddy swung along 
with a proud step. As he neared the square, 
he caught sight of a newsboy hurrying 
straight for him. The little black eyes of 
the latter had spotted the prize. ^^Hey, 
Paddy, where d’ you swipe de kiute ? ” the 
young fancier shouted. 

Our young hero stopped still. His feel- 
ings were wounded at the inference. Gwan, 
yo’ kid, I didn’t swipe ’im. Fadder Kirby 
give ’im to me, see ? for servin’ his Mass all 
t’ro’ Lent,” and, with a disdainful toss of the 
head, Paddy swung on, throwing as he did, 

11 m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


a vicious glance at the young swipes.’* 
The latter was certainly stung by this un- 
foreseen volley of sarcasm, so he slunk away 
muttering some hard things in his native 
Italian tongue. n 

With the loyal little heart that he had, 
Paddy said, I’ll show him to me chum foist.” 
So, he headed up Sixth Street, stopping for 
a moment at Mrs. Connor’s cake-stand to 
buy Nig ” a bolivar.” Then, he hurried 
down across the tracks to where his royal 
friends and legal advisers lived, Mike Sul- 
livan and Nosey Smith.” Paddy hustled up 
the first stoop that held out a welcome to 
him. The silver name-plate bore one let- 
ter, — S. The proud owner of Nig ” tugged 
at the bell several times, but no one came out ; 
so, Paddy frowned, and came slowly down 
the steps. He hastened on a few gates 
further, saying in the meantime the sweetest 
things he could express, to the pup that was 
now nearly smothered in that cosy top 
pocket. 

To the basement door, Paddy ambled this 
time, nor did he wait to ring the bell, he 
just filled his lungs and called out in a ped- 
dler’s key. Hey, Nosey, come on out and 
see me dog.” Like an echo from the tomb, 
came the faint response, from the rear of the 
house, Is dat you, Paddy ? ” Sure, hurry 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


up ! ” our little friend made answer, who 
else d’ye tink it is, de ^ iceman ’ ? ” Nosey 
came out slowly, blinking his eyes, like one 
who has just been roused from sound slum- 
ber. His hair, too, betrayed the fact that he 
had just rolled out.” 

0, ain’t she a ^ beaute,’ ” sang Nosey as 
he caught a glimpse of the wonder. It 
ain’t a she, its a him,” snapped Paddy, con- 
temning everything feminine as he did. 
This was a war-cloud, but nothing came of 
it. Arm in arm the two chums danced into 
the back kitchen. Nosey’s sister Vicky ” 
happened to be in the room as they entered, 
tying a tiny bell with a pink ribbon on 
pussy’s neck. ^^0, Vicky,” called the gal- 
lant brother, see the nice dorg Paddy’s 
fetched. It’s a bull too.” This revelation 
didn’t stagger Vicky’s serenity a bit. She 
looked at it sideways, and said something 
under her breath like ugly brute.” At 
this critical stage Nig ” was straining the 
eyes out of his head glaring at pussy. This 
was his first sight of a cat. The lack of 
social responsiveness on the part of puss 
seemed to nettle Nig on the spot. It was 
bred in him to scrap, how could he curb it ? 
So, with an ominous growl, not very loud, 
yet pregnant with bitterness, he leaped;; 
through the air, lit on pussy’s ribboned peck. 
163 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


His little teeth though not very big, were 
sharp as needles. Pussy meowed piteously, 
Alas ! was she to go down in inglorious de- 
feat ? Was the pride of catdom to be van- 
quished in so facile a manner ? Ah, verily, 
so it seemed. Let em go at it,’’ shouted 
Paddy and Nosey in perfect accord. Vicky, 
with a flare ran for the broom. Paddy’s 
quick working intellect needed no further 
warning. He jumped, and with one tug 
pulled the combatants apart, and dropped 
Nig, blinking and whining, into his overcoat 
pocket again. His royal master smiled a 
bland smile and proffered the victor another 
nibble at dog-biscuit. He turned now and 
walked out of the house, passing a significant 
smile to Nosey and Vicky. He whispered 
to Nig, paternally, You’ll do.” 

So, unto his own did Paddy come again, 
En route, the most endearing colloquy took 
place between the young hero and his pet. 
The latter, of course, could only whine dog 
language, but Paddy seemed able to fathom 
it all. At last, home was reached, and with 
a precision and care with which a young 
mother tucks her prize baby beneath the 
covers, Paddy now put his pet in a straw- 
lined box, and slid it under the kitchen stove, 
for it was a chill day and Nig was betraying 
fhe first evidence of a congestive shiver. A 
J64 


^ADDY AND HIS DOG^. 


spoonful of hot milk, however, soon put the 
darling to sleep. 

Sunday sped by, and school-day came again. 
Paddy stood at the front door, his clothes 
slick, his broad linen collar spotless, — his 
bag of books under his arm. The morning 
light rested like a blessing on his fair face. 
On the threshold, he paused. He was dazed, 
he was dreaming. Slowly crept round the 
minute-hand to the fateful hour of nine, still 
he stirred not. My boy, what ails you ? 
hurry off to school,’^ said the mother as she 
emerged softly from the front room. Paddy 
braced himself, the crucial moment had come. 
He grew a little pale, swallowed something 
in his throat then said, Mom, can’t I take 
Nig to school with me ? ” ‘‘ Why sure, child,” 
answered the mother, if the Sister will let 
you have him.” 0 thanks, Mom,” the lad 
made answer, as he made a dive for the 
kitchen door. 

The soft bell tolled again, and the children 
knelt for morning prayer. The good nun, 
with her practised eye, glanced into each of 
the young faces before her, one by one. 

What’s the matter, my good boy, are you 
ill ? ” asked the Sister gently, as Paddy’s 
plump face came before her. ‘‘ No, Sister, 
but I got somethin’ to ask yo’ an’ I’m afraid ” 
— ‘‘ 0, speak out, like a little man,” the Sister 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


said. Little lumps, however, persisted in 
blocking the little man’s throat, so he spoke 
not. But to save time, and give a more 
definite idea of liis plea, he held up Nig ” 
so that the enlivening spectacle was unfolded 
to the eyes of all the youngsters. Did the 
good Sister rage and fume at this boldness ? 
No ! she showed her tact by taking the little 
intruder into her hands and placing him on 
the soft mat near the platform. That sole 
diplomatic move placed the good Sister on a 
pedestal with the all rights ” in the esteem 
of her class. 

Day came and day went, Paddy came and 
Paddy went to school, so did Nig with him. 
He was no longer looked upon as a curiosity 
— I mean the dog. The pencils clicked on 
the slates. The little busy bees hummed 
their lessons, just the same, whether the pet 
dozed on the mat, or trotted along the aisle 
looking for ‘‘ hand outs.” It is not the 
heritage of mortals, however, to live through 
the years, without encountering, betimes, 
hours of gloom. This is universal, so Paddy 
came under the hammer, likewise Nig.” It 
happened in this way. One day,that neces- 
sary article to every teacher’s boudoir, the 
stick, lay carelessly on the desk. It had 
whistled much through the air that morning 
and many little hands had been made to 
166 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


smart. Nig’s heart was touched. He planned 
the desperate deed in a twinkle. When the 
keen eye of sister was not focused on him, 
the ^^gay purp,” as Nosey termed him, leaped 
up, got the hateful rod between his teeth, 
and watching his chance, dropped it down 
the register. 

Scientists say you cannot drop a pebble 
in the ocean without disturbing the equi- 
librium of the universe, so, as a collateral 
truth, you cannot swipe ” a stick from the 
teacher’s desk, and expect your course to go 
on smoothly as before. This eternal axiom 
hit poor Nig ” full force in an unsuspecting 
moment, and the cruel decree went forth 
that he was never again to enter that class- 
room. Alas, the mandate was inexorable. 
Paddy pleaded but in vain. His little bull 
pup went, forsooth, but as he went, tears, 
and bits of cake and candy, marked his going 
away. 

Calamities now fell on Paddy’s fair auburn 
head, thick and fast. His good mother died 
shortly afterwards, and so, he had to go to 
work to support his little sister Nanna. 
Paddy’s hours of toil, must have been dreary, 
as he hammered away, hour after hour, and 
no “ Nig ” near by to cheer him. Ah, you 
mistake. As to school, so to the factory did 
the loyal kid ” bring his pet. Didn’t the 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


boss fire ” him out? No indeed. Fairy- 
like, as it may seem, when Paddy made his 
tearful plea to have the pup admitted, the 
boss looked into the eyes of the young 
pleader, long and thoughtfully, then simply 
said the words, Yes, you may.” Although 
altogether unconscious of the fact, the little 
dog made the dull hours of toil go by merrily 
in the gloomy old factory. He learned to 
do all sorts of stunts. He could stand on 
his head. Eaise himself on his hind legs. 
Catch a ball as well as some of your boy 
players, and many other things not gener- 
ally found in catalogues. 

I know, in wise books it says that foxes 
are the keenest of animals. Pshaw, not at 
all. Nig would make any fox hide for shame. 
In latter months, when he caught sight of 
the boss coming up from the depot in the 
morning. Nig would skip down the street, to 
meet him and carry his bundle. What a 
diplomat ! And though he was an ugly bull 
terrier, he smiled as sweetly as his face would 
permit. 

One morning, the boss came in rather late. 
His brow was not as suave as was its wont, 
so it seemed to Paddy. Mike Sullivan came 
skipping along the floor, looking ashen pale, 
and coming up to his trusted chum said, 
^^Hey, Paddy, here’s a note from de boss, 
168 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


you’re bounced I guess. Too bad.” So he 
slunk away to his bench. Our little hero 
rubbed his fingers through his red hair, as 
though trying to scour up some motive the 
boss might have for wanting to see him 

instantly ” for so the note read. He tarried 
but a moment, at his bench, then made 
hurriedly for the main office, with a heavy 
heart, sighing, “ It’s all on account of ^ Nig,’ 
I know.” 

When Paddy reached the office, that 
loomed up before him like a death-chamber, 
his knees began to shiver, and he fell, almost 
swooned into a chair. Mr. Watson spoke 
as a business man, and therefore wasted no 
words. Young man, ” he said, I have 
noticed something in you since the first day 
you stepped into this factory four years ago. 
I never remarked it to you, but it often made 
me think deeply. It is this : — you have 
shown such a goodness of heart to that pet 
of yours that I have concluded ” — “ To fire 
me,” broke in Paddy tearfully. Why, no, 
little man,” answered the boss, laughing in 
surprise. I have decided to make you my 
private secretary. I know the training you 
have received at the Sisters’ school has fitted 
you for this duty.” 

Paddy sniffed away his tears, looked 
through the mists at the beaming face of 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Mr. Watson and said, You ain’t foolin’ me, 
are you, sir ? ” No, son, I am not. Any 
boy with the good impulses you have is 
bound to come to the top. By the way, I 
heard from your old teacher, of your good- 
ness to your sister Nanna, how you share 
your wages with her, and how you have 
Masses said for your poor mother. Do you 
do these naughty things ? ” queried Mr. 
Watson roguishly. Yes,” said Paddy 
smiling. I am guilty of those charges.” 

Then,” the manager went on with the 
affected tone of a dramatic, sentence 
you to life imprisonment in my house. Have 
you anything to say before the execution of 
this sentence?” Nothing,” drolled the 
blushing boy. But will you allow me to 
suggest, that you modify that sentence or 
make it more embracing ? ” Why, what 
do you mean?” said Mr. Watson, a little 
surprised. ^^My sister,” the bashful boy 
went on, has ever been the sharer of 
my toil and tears, why should I not make 
her now the partaker of my gladness?” 

Sure, certainly,” was the hearty man’s reply. 

I’ll send her up for a life sentence too.” 
Here the two joined in a hearty laugh. 

Two years will now roll by before another 
scene is set. If you approach the veranda 
of Mr. Watson’s country home on any sum- 
ITO 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


mer evening, you will see him in earnest, or 
mayhap, playful conversation with a young 
man of cheery countenance and merry laugh. 
While a little way off, a fair young girl 
rocks to and fro busily knitting, she times 
the stroke of her needle to a sweet little bal- 
lad she learned years ago at school. As the 
dusk settles down and they go into the 
parlor, a fairy will tell you that the youth is 
Paddy, and the little maid is Nanna. Nig ” 
has a castle of his own, by the coach-house. 

My dear little toiling friends, you who live 
closer to me, I am going to draw a few 
needful lessons, all for you. I hope you will 
be good enough to hear me out. You know 
how the lynx-eyed boss kept tabs ” on 
poor Paddy for four years. You would say, 
he was being sized up.” Well, that ex- 
presses it nicely. 

After glancing over the splendid career 
of our young friend, I have concluded that 
there were just four things that blended to 
push Paddy into favor. The first of these 
was. Promptness. He made it a point to 
slide into his little bed at a seasonable hour. 
On Saturday night only, did he stay up 
after ten o’clock. . Then, he made the time 
glad by showing to Nanna the nice things 
he had bought her with his week’s pay. Then, 
he had to shine his shoes, and put out his 
171 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


things ” for the morning. These delicate 
operations were ofttimes shared in by the 
dainty hands of Nanna herself. But ere 
the eleventh hour swung around, his little 
^ red top ’ would be under the blankets, and 
there it would rest in sweetened slumber, 
until the angels came in the morning. He 
rose ever, on the instant of six. Poor little 
chap, it was tough in the winter mornings. 
Then he said his prayers like a little saint, 
warmed Nanna’s little boots and then called 
her to share his frugal breakfast. Off to 
work, he would then trot, and the fondest 
prayer of Nanna followed him. 

Secondly, he was Neat. At his work he 
wore a jumper ” of course, and when he 
emerged from the work-room, his face was 
often dyed with the colorings that dusted ’’ 
from the goods. ’Twas funny too, some 
days he would be a black-face. On others 
he would have the blues, and so on. His 
head of course was red. This color was 
dyed in the wool.’’ The boys ofttimes 
called him Redney,” but they all agreed, 
that he was a brick,” and when a working 
boy calls you a brick you can rest assured 
that he likes you. When my little hero 
came round the bend at evening, who would 
be waiting for him at the gate? Why, Nan- 
na to be sure. But, do you know, h^ 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


wouldn’t kiss her till he had washed his face, 
for he feared, as he said, giving his little dar- 
ling the blues.” When he took his place 
in the big chair at the head of the table, he 
was king of his little palace. So wherefore 
it is evident, Nanna was equal to a queen. 
Now and then, Nanna would say in her coy 
way. ‘^0 Paddy, you’d never know you 
were living, you’re so little trouble in the 
house.” Paddy would retort by saying, Ah, 
gwan, Nanna, quit your fooling.” 

If you were to take a peep into his bureau- 
drawer you would find his nice things ” laid 
straight, like sardines in a box. Let me see, 
what was the next thing that Mr. Watson 
said he liked about his little factory-boy. 
0 yes. Politeness. The old gentleman told 
me one day as I chatted with him in the 
office, that in all the years of acquaintance 
with Paddy, he never remembered him to 
have been impolite to any one. He was as 
gentle as a little girl. Do you hear that, 
girls ? Whenever he met a lady or a gentle- 
man on the street whom he chanced to know 
he would doff his cap, a smile would light 
up his merry features, and he would say the 
right word at the right time. 

One morning as he was riding in a street 
car, an elderly man came tottering in. Mr. 
Watson was standing on the back platform 
173 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


at the time, but Paddy didn’t know it. The 
feeble old man stopped midway in the car. 
No one stirred to give him a seat, he was 
about to raise his trembling hand to grasp a 
strap, when the quick eye of our gallant, 
took in the old man’s plight. He went up 
to him softly and said, Please, sir, may I 
offer you my seat ? ” The old man said. 

Thank you, my boy. Bless your good 
little heart.” There is a great deal in a 
blessing such as this. 

Then, too, my little friend possessed the 
symposium of all virtues, — Charity. I fain 
would cease from saying it, but I must in 
justice : — working boys and girls, as a rule, 
are uncharitable one to the other. Here, I 
say the girls are at greater fault, because, to 
gossip and talk critically of others, is a 
frailty, peculiar to young girls. Alas, how 
often does it happen, that some poor boy or 
girl in the factory loses his or her good 
name through the mean criticisms or carp- 
ings, of some young scandal-monger. How 
often too does it occur that some poor young- 
ster is turned out of the factory, because 
rumors often unfounded are buzzed through 
the rooms. 0, how it rejoices my heart to 
tell you, that Paddy was an exception to this 
prevalent evil habit. He remembered ever 
the lesson he had learned at school. 

m 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


** Speak no ill but lenient be 

To others’ feelings as your own, 

If you’re the first defects to see 

Be not the first to make them known.” 

He recalled how the priest spoke of the 
words of Our Beloved Lord, By this shall 
all men know that you are my disciples, that 
you have love, one for the other.” He remem- 
bered too, what the priest had said, quoting 
St. Paul’s good words, Even though I do 
many good deeds, just to make a show, and 
have not really in my soul a feeling of charity, 
they will profit me nothing.” My little 
auburn-haired friend never lost sight of these 
eternal truths, and so they had a constant 
influence on his life; 

Like most boys, I admit, my beau-ideal ” 
now and then would use a slang word. 
While pegging away at his bench if he heard 
those about him, especially the girls, speak- 
ing ill of some fallen one. He would drop 
his little mallet, straighten up, and say, Ah, 
what’s the use of knockin’ all the time, you 
ain’t dead yet.” And most of the time, the 
wicked detractor would grow silent. If he 
happened into a bunch ” where many young 
rogues were swapping indecent stories, our 
little man would instantly put all to shame 
by shouting, Ah, say, let’s talk about the 
fight.” And the cloud of vileness would 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


begin to dissolve before the smiles and laugh- 
ter that would be born of Paddy’s funny 
sayings. 

One day, I remember, a poor little colored 
boy was accused of taking a small tool that 
belonged to one of the designers.” The 
foreman was very angry, for the loss of the 
tool delayed the work very much. So going 
up to Bobby ” — for that was the dark little 
friend’s name — he shouted, — “ Here, you 
young thief, clear out of here, and don’t 
come back either.” Just then a little drama 
was enacted. With silver tears rolling down 
his shiny face, Bobby was shuffling toward 
the door, for his final exit, when Paddy ran 
out and taking him by the arm said, Hold 
up, Bobby. I’ll straighten this snarl out for 
you.” Then turning like a young pleader 
to the foreman he said, “ Mr. Craig, I think 
it’s a shame. ‘ Shiner ^ didn’t take that 
compass ; a fella’ wot don’t like him swiped 
it an’ hid it over the boiler, and now he’s 
blaming it on Bobby. Really, sir, 1 think 
it ain’t square.” A hurried investigation 
proved that Paddy’s words were true. 
The mean trickster was sought out and 

bounced.” Ever afterwards Bobby would 
speak of our little hero as his real fren’.” 

Now, boys and girls, recall the title of my 
talk to you. I styled it, Little things,” 
176 


PADDY AND HIS DOG. 


Just to show you, what a great factor a little 
thing may be in shaping and molding your 
whole future career. Kemember that your 
Holy Faith allows you to make no distinc- 
tion in persons. No country, color, or creed 
throws any one without the circle which 
your Lord considers His children. God is 
your Father, and every man is your brother. 

Imitate, then, our little friend Paddy, as 
I have tried to picture him in the different 
surroundings in which he, as a working boy, 
was placed, and you will be advanced higher, 
and higher, not alone in this world, but in 
the world to come, where the Master, tlie 
lover of the little worker, will welcome you 
at that home when you must bid farewell to 
your toiling. 


12 


177 


Zbc Ibistor^ of IRasbna* 


THE FOUNTAIN OF GRACE. 

Away out in the remote part of the 
Eastern hemisphere, there is a country so 
very old, that its name has quite been for- 
gotten. Its confines are usually shown on 
the maps in a purple color, as much as to 
say, that it was once a royal land, but now 
it is a dead one ’’ I am to tell you a story 
about this dim country, that happened, I 
learn, many hundreds of years before the 
flood. So, you see what a long jog your 
thoughts will have to take. If you con- 
sult the books in remnant stores, you will 
see that in those days, kings and queens 
had not a very enviable lot of it, as they 
have now. Then, — they had to sway their 
sceptres over monsters, yumyums, ogres, and 
many other hideous things, of which I dread 
to speak. Well, just at this time, when 
rocks were just made, and therefore not so 
hard as now, and not much order prevailed 
in the world, there lived a queen, Nesca by 
name. She was chosen by her people by 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


vote. I rather think elections in those days 
were conducted honestly. Twenty thousand 
artisans straightway set to work to build 
her a palace, and a gorgeous one it was too. 
Many thousands of dynosauri had to be 
slain to get ivory enough to raise the walls, 
and quite seven tons of gold were used in 
adorning the interior of this up-to-date 
domicile. Twenty caravans of roses were 
put into the press, and their fragrance 
extracted which was used to perfume the 
gowns alone of Nesca. 0 fortunate queen 
was she ! 

Heaven did not send any offspring to 
Nesca, so she naturally was at times very 
lonely. When moments such as these would 
come upon her, she would lay aside her silken 
robes, and dismiss her royal minstrels, and 
stroll along the river-bank. The murmuring 
of the waters seemed to have a soothing 
effect upon her disconsolate spirit. Strange, 
isn’t it ? AV ell, one day, when the royal 
charioteers were holding a festival near the 
palace, and things were particularly noisy, 
the good queen strode quietly ad own the 
hill-side to where the river purred gently 
against the meadowland. The frolic of 
many little goslins in the water seemed to 
amuse the royal lady, and drew from her a 
smile. Just here, her golden girdle caught 
179 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


in the meshes of a calamus-bush, which 
thus being drawn aside, disclosed a cocoa- 
nut shell reposing in a spot of shade. In 
it, a small white object moved. Nesca 
stooped softly and raised the lurking 
treasure close to her bosom. 

0 gracious Allah ! ’’ she gasped, as the 
nature of the being dawned upon her. 
It was a tiny babe, garbed in white. 
‘‘ 0 precious little grain, how glad I am to 
find you ! ” she said, in a cooing tone, — you 
shall be my darling child. 0, had I not 
happened on you, ere this morning you 
would have been the morsel of the bloody 
ogre.” So, in a woman’s fussy way, the kind 
queen took the foundling to her own boudoir 
and draped its tiny limbs in the costliest of 
silk. 

Just at sunrise, she sent her herald to the 
portico, and bade him blow a mighty note, 
so as summon all her subjects. Now, 
in those days, as I have already stated, royal 
rulers had to hold sway over beasts as well 
as over human beings. In fact they ruled 
the earth while on the throne. So much so 
that if a cranky old monarch growled Get 
off the earth,” you would have to do so. 
Well, in response to the mighty blast of the 
page, the populace hastened to the palace 
gardens, to hear what the queen had to say. 

180 



Nesca stooped softly and raised the lurking 
treasure close to her bosom. 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


There came also the yumyums, and the ogres, 
and the dynosauri. But these, of course, 
held a respectful distance, just like steerage 
passengers. 

0 fortunate subjects all,” — began Nesca 
— “ hear the glad news I have for you. 
Yestermorn as I strode by the stream, I 
found a male waif of tender form, and on 
his forehead was branded the seal of royalty. 
My life is flowing on like the river — into the 
sea of eternity. When I pass, this myste- 
rious babe shall be your monarch.” ‘^So 
shall he be,” chorused the throng in 
solemn tone. The good Nesca having freed 
her mind of this address, dispersed the 
crowd, who went away singing : 0 ye 

heavens, rain your favors on the brow of him 
who has come to rule.” 

The goldbeaters, and jewel-setters were 
now set to task, to fashion regal gems and a 
sceptre for the baby king. All of which 
was accomplished in due time. A cute 
little chariot was also made for him, and two 
milk-white ponies drew him wherever he 
wished. The pious lama gave the fortunate 
little waif the name of Rashna which, I 
guess, means, — found in the rushes. 

The young lord grew, and waxed more 
comely each year. The period of his school- 
days came and went, and he took in much 
182 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


wisdom from the lips of his tutors. Moreover, 
he learned to play on all the useful instru- 
ments extant at that time. His voice too, was 
as sweet as that of Orpheus. He was likewise 
brave. He was often seen on the back of a 
charger going to disperse a band of blood- 
thirsty ogres who lurked in caverns, to 
pounce on little children, and eat them. So 
his bones stiffened with the passage of years. 
He became comely and manly in his bearing, 
and Queen Nesca was proud of him. One 
day, she strode to him and said, “ 0 valiant 
Rashna, my life will soon pass into the 
seventieth year, I can no longer look after 
the affairs of my domain. The dawn of 
your twentieth year is now at hand, I promise 
you, that on that happy day, I will cede into 
your hands, the sceptre of my kingdom.” 

0 venerable Queen,” did Rashna exclaim, 

1 blush to accept so exalted an honor 
from you, but your bidding is my pleasure.” 

Now, many of the populace having heard 
of the designs of Nesca, were not at all 
pleased, as you may suspect, for though she 
was growing old and wrinkled, they forgot 
not her kindnesses to them through many 
years. However their demurs mattered not, 
her will was the law. 

The third space of Pluto at last came 
around on the dial. In our modern time 
183 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 

that is equivalent to the thirteenth day of 
February. Although frost and ice had 
covered the plains for miles around, and the 
trees and flowers had long since become 
seared, wonderful to state, on the morning 
of the fete, the grass carpeted the plains, the 
brooks woke up and murmured, the fruit 
and blossoms hung from the trees, the breath 
of summer swept over the land, the birds 
took up the thread of song, and all hearts 
were happy. Hundreds of pages and heralds 
hurried through the country, on the backs 
of camels, telling the people that Rashna, 
was to ascend the throne, and rule. Soon, 
a horde of delighted people was streaming 
toward the ivory palace to hear the wonder- 
ful things the freshly-made king would have 
to tell them. Well, they were truly marvel- 
lous, as you will soon learn. The entire 
domain of Nesca was spread out before the 
castle-gate like molasses on a slice of bread. 
Now, it is strange, but even, all the skinny 
yumyums, the ugly ogres and tlie ponderous 
icthyosauri, thought themselves welcomed to 
the palace gates too. So they came. All 
waited breathlessly for the young king to ap- 
pear. At last the blare of five thousand 
jongongs, told that he was approaching. 
You may picture that this young ruler came 
out pn the portico to meet his people, with 

m 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


great pomp. But no. He walked to the forO, 
very modestly, and said : 0, my devoted 

subjects, this is a great day for you and for 
me [good speech, so far]. I intend that the 
occasion of my taking the scepter, shall be 
a glorious spot on the parchment of history 
[applause]. Now, 0 loyal ones, you are all 
invited to my banquet-hall, which I think 
will serve you all. Therein, refresh ye your 
wearied hearts and let us all be merry on 
this memorable day.” 

Now, you must know in those days ban- 
quets and course dinners, were not very 
popular. So, the entire bill of fare, was 
riddled in about six zings ” or minutes. 
But ah, the greatest treat of the century was 
yet in store for the overjoyed people. When 
the tables were cleared, royal young Rashna, 
stood with his silken sandals, on one of the 
divans and said, 0 merry subjects, it is my 
desire to fill your cup of happiness to over- 
flowing. I now tell you and your gracious 
Queen, for the first time, that I am the only 
son of Dodanim the powerful one of Sinbad- 
land. Nothing is difficult or impossible to 
me. So therefore you shall feel the sweet- 
ness of my beneficence [another good speech.] 
0 all ye venerable ones, come here before 
me. Ye, weighted with years, and wrinkled.” 
And as they came, the good king raised his 
185 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


scepter and sang, and as the notes floated 
over their heads the years coursed back- 
wards, until one and all stood in the prime 
of youth, with blushing cheeks, and bright 
eyes. 

It is my wish to destroy all deformity, so, 
come ye here before me, all who are maimed, 
halt, blind, or speechless, and I will take 
from you your scourge.” The army of the 
miserable surged about him as he spoke. 
Again he sang and as a cloud melts before 
the sun so did their deformities go away, and 
each stood fair and comely once again. 

Come ye here to my feet,” the good 
Rashna continued — all ye whose coffers 
are emptied.” And the poverty-stricken 
surged about him like a maddened torrent. 
Gold rained into their outstretched hands, 
and so, the w^onder-working lulled for a 
space. As a quiet after a storm, a spell of 
rest came gently over the blessed throng. 
The bounteous Rashna now smiled, and 
turning toNescathe queen, who sat pale and 
wrinkled on her throne, said, in words and 
tone as a good boy would to his mother : 

0 divine Queen, you have I loved and 
adored, from the very dawn of my reason. 
By your timely visit to the stream, you 
saved me, twenty years ago, from the teeth 
of the ogre, and the crushing hoof of the 
186 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


dynosauri. As time went on, your good- 
ness to me only multiplied. You are about 
to pass from the regal power now to lay 
down the sceptre you have wielded so long 
and so gently. Even now, we can see the 
ashen shadows of death gathering over 
your brow. Are we then, your devoted 
children, to say the word that is to tear our 
hearts — Farewell? No, no.” AndasRashna 
went on his voice grew more warm with love. 

I cannot, I will not live without you. 0 
lovable protectress, you shall be my bride, 
my queen.” This remark caused a titter to 
ripple through the assembly. But at this 
instant the little Rashna said again some 
magic words and lo, Nesca stepped from her 
throne a fair and comely lassie, as she was at 
twenty summers. Needless to say the popu- 
lace went wild with unbounded joy. By a 
weird pass with his sceptre, the new young 
king caused a blessing to rest on the head of 
each and every subject, and so all swept 
from the mansion, out into the world. Their 
hunger had been sated, their deformities 
cured, their poverty relieved, and so they 
went to their homes in gladness, singing : 

Never, oh, never has king lived so gener- 
ous as Rashna.” 

I am pleased to say, that at frequent in- 
tervals afterwards, the people came to the 
187 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILER^. 


palace and as often as they did, they went 
away filled with gifts and gladness. 

Rashna and Nesca reigned four hundred 
and seventy-two years, and then died in 
peace, for even royal ones must pass away. 

What a shame it is, that no one thought 
to rear a monument to the memory of 
Rashna, the Good ! However, his name was 
held in blessing for many many centuries by 
his people, and that is enough. There is no 
king so kind as Rashna now — alas, these 
crown-holders of modern times, are usually 
sensual and small-souled. But unluckily, 
we can’t remedy matters. My good young 
friends, I mistake, there is a King who is 
more loving to you, than Rashna ever was to 
his people. There is a Divine Ruler who 
dwells in your midst, — Whose loveliness far 
surpasses that of the youthful monarch of 
long ago. For He of whom, I would speak 
is loving to all, and generous regardless of 
race or age. His ear is ever ready to catch 
the sigh of the forlorn. His hands are ever 
outstretched to aid the miserable. He stands 
through day and night, calling to his sub- 
jects : Come to me, all ye who labor and 

are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” 
But ah, the people often, yea, young and old 
— turn a deaf ear to His call, and pass Hi» 
palace without tarrying. 

188 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


Your Lord Beloved has reared a mansion 
in your very midst. It is His treasure-house. 
You are welcome to steal in to Him any hour 
of the night or day. His eyes never slum- 
ber, and His heart never grows cold. He 
holds a great feast on every seventh day, 
then He lifts His voice in stronger tone, and 
calls, Come to me — Come to Mass, in the 
midst of whose glory I stand to bless you. 
Come, ye age-ladened, ye whose forms are 
bent with the touch of sorrow, and I will 
make you feel again the thrill of youth. 
Come to me, ye diseased and afflicted, and 
before my touch your miseries shall pass as 
the gloom before the morning light. Come 
to me, ye blessed poor, and I who feed the 
birds that toil not, nor spin, will also clothe 
your naked limbs, and soothe your pangs of 
hunger.” Yes, this is verily the call of the 
Heavenly Master to the world. But, 0 God, 
how cruelly the world treats Him ! It throws 
a cold glance at His beaming face, and lifts 
not a foot to enter His holy temple. O, woe 
to such on the great day of reckoning ! To be 
very plain with you, my young friends, I 
want to impress your souls with the ineffa^ 
ble goodness of Our Lord in Holy Mass, and 
consequently how great a sin it is for a little 
toiler, to absent himseK or herself from this 
holiest of all banquets. 

189 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


The heralds of Rashna blew the trumpets, 
and the people rushed to the ivory palace. 
The heralds of the Heavenly Prince, Our 
Lord Jesus, preach to you the tidings of 
grace, and yet, alas, how many who claim 
to love the Divine Rashna stay away from 
Him ! 

Good young friends, you can no more 
lead a virtuous life, nor save your soul 
without going to Mass faithfully, than you 
can live on without food. You toil, you 
slave every day, and in doing so, you waste 
much of the tissue of your bodies. This you 
replace by wholesome food. The powers of 
your souls, too, are taxed frequently during 
the week to their utmost in fighting against 
the allurements of sin. Alas, what do you 
do to revive those fainting souls ? what food 
do you give them ? Frequently, they are 
allowed to languish until they die, the 
victims of sin. 

You often hear an automobile go whizzing 
past your window as you work away. Great 
things those ‘ autos.’ You may own one some 
day if you are thrifty. Well, what sends 
them along so swiftly and so smoothly ? It 
is the electric current with which they have 
been charged at the power-station. The 
chaff eur ” must, at least every week, head 
his machine to the power-house, to take on 
190 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


more power, else his pet flyer would suddenly 
stand still some day like a mule, and the 
youngsters on the byway would taunt him 
by calling, Get a horse/’ 

Your souls are little machines whose life 
is ever sustained by a spiritual electric power. 
They must be steered into the power-house 
for souls, at least once a week, else some day 
they will stand still on the roadside, through 
sheer weakness, and the devils will make 
cruel sport of them. 0 my young friends, 
you, particularly, of Irish parentage, have 
such splendid examples of loyalty to holy 
faith in the persons of your parents. In 
their younger days, how prompt they were 
to the call of Holy Mother Church, to come 
and adore. Often, too, they trudged over 
the hills to Mass in the face of many perils. 
God bless their fidelity ! Even now, as age 
is come upon them, when the light of 
gladness is gone out of their eyes through 
much sorrowing and weeping. Now, when 
their poor old limbs are crippled by disease 
and toil, they still insist on getting to Mass, 
to gaze again upon the face of that Sweet 
Lord who through many score years, has been 
their stafP, and their consolation. 

0, shame on you, young folks, who miss 
Mass for trivial reasons, and in the face of 
so much good example from your sainted 
191 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


old fathers and mothers. Remember, from 
the tabernacle now, through night and day 
there comes breathing hut one strain, only 
one : Come to me.’' This will sound until 
time is no more. When the callous soul of 
the Mass misser shall have passed the 
mysterious stream that borders between life 
and eternity, he shall hear the same Master 
give voice to words that shall shiver the 
careless soul with terror. They shall be: 
•^Depart from me. I was in prison, and 
you visited me not. I stretched forth my 
hand to bless you and you came not. I sent 
my servant — the priest — out into the byways 
to call you, ^ Come ye to the Feast,’ and you 
turned a deaf ear to the plea. Depart ! ” 

As a priest, I will sympathize with a soul 
who sadly falls into any sin of weakness and 
shed with the sorrowing penitent tear for 
tear, but I have no patience with the 
young man or woman, who wilfully neglects 
Mass ; neither has the Lord. For such negli- 
gence is a virtual admission that you 
think not enough of Jesus to visit Him. 
How sweet it is to read those passages in 
Holy Writ, which tell us of the little ones 
running to meet their Gentle Master as, at 
eventide. He would be returning to rest 
within the embrace of the city walls he loved 
60 well — Capharnaum. 

192 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


How many of you little workers, run to meet 
your Lord when He calls you to Him on a 
Sunday morning by the sweet tolling of the 
bell ? It is true that many of you do re- 
spond. But when you have once entered 
the Master’s House, why in God’s name, do 
you young men especially, skulk in the rear 
of the church, under some dark recess of 
the gallery, where even the sunlight seems 
ashamed to be seen shining ? My God, if 
you love your Divine Master why do you 
not go closer to His abode ? ” 

St. Matthew tells us how on one occasion, 
Our Saviour seeing how His Father’s house 
was being profaned, by traders and sellers, 
took cords, and scourged those defilers out 
into the street. Those youngsters who 
nowadays insist on ornamenting the doorway 
should be treated in like fashion as those 
cold-hearted money-grinders of Our Lord’s 
day. Drive them out into the street ! Let 
not the Good Master be insulted ! 

Young friends, do, for your soul’s sake, 
realize the awful sanctity of the Mass, and 
the grand occasion of grace it offers. Do 
not come to assist at the heavenly mysteries 
empty-handed. If you go to visit a friend 
whom you love, you will bear with you 
some little token of respect — even a flower. 
You come to see your Lord Beloved ou 

13 m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Sundays, bring some article of devotion with 
you. Something that will recall Him sweetly 
to your minds, and keep afar unholy thoughts. 
Get for yourselves an approved prayer-book 
or any book that treats of the Mass. If 
you would prefer to keep your eyes on the 
movements of the priest — on the tabernacle, 
then bring your rosary with you, and as 
you murmur its thoughts, let your eyes rest 
on the little House of Love wherein your 
Master dwelleth, and near which Mary, too, 
still tarries. 

How pained the priest is at times, when 
he sees so many young folks looking idly 
about the church — while the Divine mysteries 
are being celebrated. See how some gaze 
vacantly at the walls, then at those who 
kneel about them. Then after a few heavy 
moments, the watch is slipped out of the 
pocket, and the dreary eye watches the 
moments tick slowly by, until Mass is over. 
Then comes the rude rush out into the 
the street. 0 horror ! What a shame that 
the dumb devil should be allowed to hold 
your souls so in check, and strike speechless 
your tongues that should be crying aloud for 
grace, J esus. Son of David, have mercy on 
me.” 

Many a time and oft. Our Lord was al- 
most lifted upon the surging human bib 


THE HISTORY OF RASHNA. 


lows as they swept around Him beseeching 
Him for some boon. Hundreds of thirsting 
souls would cry out at once, and then the 
discordant sound would be swept away, and 
no one would be heard. I can picture Our 
Dear Lord smiling at their impetuosity and 
saying, What will ye that I do for you ? ” 
and, as each one pressed by, his yearning 
was gratified. 

0, have you, little toilers, nothing to 
ask your Lord ? Have you no temptation 
that harasses you ? Have you no friend or 
parent beloved who is sick, and who could 
be benefited by your prayers ? Have you 
no loved one who is suffering in the flames of 
Purgatory ? and whose misery you could so 
easily relieve by your Mass prayers ? Have 
you no one who is idle in the family, and 
who would eagerly work to help support the 
family burden, if they could ? Surely your 
lot is cast with the rest of humankind. 
Surely you are in some distress spiritual 
or corporal. You need help, who does not ? 
Why then hold back the sorrow that is 
bursting your young hearts to be let out ? 
Why be silent when you can relieve your 
sadness by a mere sigh, a tear, to J esus ? 0 

ye of little faith ! 

Brace up, now, you youngsters, if hereto- 
fore you have been negligent about attend- 
195 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


ing Mass. Remember that on your deathbed 
there is one yearning that will seize your 
soul, as it has the souls of thousands of 
others, a yearning for peace with your God, 
ere you pass before the judgment seat. 
Yea, more, your fainting souls will thirst for 
the blood of Christ, and your vitals crave 
the bread of angels. But all this sweet 
comfort, in all probability, will be denied the 
one who, through life, habitually missed Mass. 
0 terrible thought, of your journeying to 
judgment empty-handed, and friendless ! 0 
fearful the words, too, that will thunder in 
the souls of those have turned a deaf ear to 
the invitation of the Lord Beloved, to come 
to His Banquet. 

You have despised my counsels. So 
when distress shall come upon you, you 
shall call upon me, and I shall not hear. 
You shall rise in the morning, and shall 
not find me, because you have hated instruc- 
tion, and drew not nigh to me, in the hour 
of grace.” 

Be wise now, boys and girls, while still the 
day lives. Be determined never to miss Mass, 
again. 


m 


anb (&umatub tbe Micfteb 


BAD READING. 

At that time, when Jupiter, Venus, 
Mercury, and Mars were all on friendly terms 
with our good old planet Mother Earth, and 
they wrote love ditties to one another, two 
hideous little Jins popped into existence, and 
dominated the universe, in a way that will 
shiver you to hear. 

That snorting old volcano, Kechunk,” 
which hugged close to wizard old Olympus 
in those days, had lain asleep for two thou- 
sand years. So no one thought he would 
ever awaken to belch forth his sulphurous 
fumes again. But, old Kechunk ” fooled 
them. On the thirteenth ide of November 
(see calendar), at dead of night, when the 
jolly old planets from the ethereal region 
were creeping home with unsteady step, lest 
they should wake the sleeping stars, the 
dreaded old snorter,” suddenly found the 
fire of his youth. From his stony throat 
he first rolled softly a few columns of inno- 
cent smoke, toward the sky. Then, by 
way of warming up, he shot a crimped tongue 


SHOUT TALKS TO YOtTNO TOILERS. 


of flame straight up, that blinded one of the 
stars. Being conscious now, proudly con- 
scious, that his terrifying power of two 
thousand years ago was his again, he began 
to fire thunderbolts and lubricated light- 
ning, and cinders, into the heavens in a way 
to shock the nervous tissue of every one of 
the planets. Some of the tender ones flew 
from the heavens, and running off to Sinbad- 
land, were never seen again. O, wonderfully 
thrilling was the spectacle that old rejuvenated 

Kechunk,” now held forth to the onlook- 
ing universe. The glorious pyrotechnic went 
on for many hours to the delight of the 
dwellers of some of the orbs, and to the 
dread of some others. 

At last, without any prelude, the old tartar 
served up a surprise, the like of which the 
diary of no opium-eater shall ever contain. 
He rumbled and roared with all the sub-base 
stops pulled out. Then, boom ! crash 1 and 
a column of green fire shot upward. It 
seemed surely twenty miles high. All now 
grew very still, like a country village after 
dark. The old dynamiter was at last satis- 
fied with the damage he had worked. But 
marvel at my tale ! When the green flame 
had died in mid-air, it gave birth to two 
gruesome little waifs, who bounced from 
the surface of the earth a mile high before 
198 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THB WICKED JINS. 


they finally settled down. When they 
finally stood with a haughty air, it was seen 
that fire glared from their eyes. Their 
beards were of trickling flame. Their skins 
seemed made of rusty iron. They viewed 
the millions of awestricken onlookers with a 
stare of utter disdain. One young courtier 
of the king, who drew nigh and made some 
caustic remark about the ugly brats,’’ was 
struck dead by a single glance of the left 
eye of one of the little demons. When the 
king himself stalked by and sought an ex- 
planation of such hilarity, Ginggob and 
Gumalub reach up and pulling down a 
handful of stars pelted him to death. Poor 
king ! 

They made no secret now of their plans. 
They openly avowed, that they were the 
sons of “ Kechunk ’ the Terrible, and that 
it was their intention to rule the universe as 
their dad had done of yore. Saucy young- 
sters 1 So they proceeded to make good their 
boast. They pulled down the snoozing 
moon, and shoved him under a mountain. 
They chased the stars away into another 
world. They said that Venus and the 
other planets might stay if they behaved 
themselves. W ell, it was a comparatively easy 
task to break those dopey ” old grannies 
of the sky. Would they have the hardihood 


SHORT TALKS TO YOtJNG TOILERS. 


to treat Mother Earth in this way ? That 
was to be seen. 

Just like some of the trusts, they set to 
work to dominate all budding industries. 
They bounced over streams, rivers, and hills 
in one leap. They tied knots in the tails of 
the kine ; pulled the wings of birds ; stole 
the trunks of all the elephants. Still they 
kept going, whizzing round the world, and 
round again, never growing tired. The sires 
of all the land now grew alarmed. 0 doom ! 
our finish has come ! ’’ they groaned. Never- 
theless one brave heart still fluttered. Old 
King Nac shouted with a roar to the little ter- 
rors: Here, this must stop ! Begone ye trite 
villains ! ’’ But the imps echoed back with 
unheard of insolence : Fudge ! and the 
doughty royal one fainted away. 

Now it should appear to even the unthink- 
ing, that the only thing to do was to organize 
an army to exterminate the pest, — to put 
to instant death these insulting little villains 
who had destroyed the peace of the heavens 
and were pushing the earth off its placid 
groove. Just as I should guess, this was 
the plan adopted. The rulers and Czars 
sent one to another their Buzzulas ’’ or 
flying messengers, and lo, within a passing 
day the cohorts were being massed together 
like cigars in a box. 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


At last on the field of Nabushan, a space 
five miles square, this noble block of throb- 
bing humanity stood. Marshal music rang 
through the air, Drums rattled along the 
line. Just then the Blink,” or Commander- 
in-chief, sang out, Forward, ye warriors, 
march ! ” and with thuddy steps the legion 
swept on to crush Ginggob and Gumalub the 
torturing salamanders. Well did they de- 
serve a crushing ! All through the torrid day 
did the legion march, with green visages and 
gripped swords, toward the East ; but no 
sign of the evil-breeders came to the horizon. 
At night they halted, and rolling themselves 
in their blankets they went to sleep. O, 
foolish move ! Behind the peak of Olympus 
the two little evil-working jins stood in 
hiding — just as we would hide behind the 
gate when we saw mother hastening with the 
switch. 

Now was their chance to rout and ruin 
their pursuers by throwing down “ clinkers ” 
on their heads. Before they could think, 
however, the army was up on its feet. Good 
move ! Alas, the imps were now cornered ; 
what could they do, shoot the flame from 
their eyes ? No use, the soldiers were clad 
in armor of brass. In a twink they decided 
on a scheme. They quickly filled their capa- 
cious lungs with ozone and standing erect 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


shouted Boo ! ” Effective move ! for the 
army ran, routed, terror-stricken, in every 
direction. Rumor has it that some of them 
still run, but I doubt it. 

Glad indeed did Ginggob and Gumalub 
now feel, and well they might. Their zest- 
ful desire was at last gratified, they ruled 
Mother Earth as well as her Ethereal Sister. 
So the smaller of the devilish pair quoth he. 
Good brothers, let us refresh our tired souls 
with the nectar of the gods.” So they went 
to the bower of Jasper the Merry. But they 
sipped not of his cheering vintage, rather 
partook they of the beverage brewed by 
Sibeon the Insatiate. As happens even in 
our rosy-days, the bibbling of the two ambiti- 
ous brothers made their brains whirl, and so 
they resolved to do reckless things. 

Said the one to the other, Let us do to 
death all the mortals of the globe, then can 
we use it ourselves as a playground. Selfish 
boys ! So they set their evil-twitching eyes 
on every brook and stream that gurgled 
through the valleys, and instantly these 
crystal streams turned to deadly poison, 
even as they ran along and sparkled as of 
yore. The children of earth, on the morrow, 
thinking that the rills were pure as ever, 
went to the brinks and drank their fill. No 
sooner had they quaffed, however, then thei^ 
202 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


heads began to spin, and their thoughts flew 
about like autumn leaves. The world went 
loony ” now for sure. In very fact it had 
become a burlesque for the merriment of 
the two sons of Kechunk. Poor old Mother 
Earth ! you surely were now under the 
thumbs of the wizards. 

The kings were dismayed. The army 
routed by the boo ! ” The planets were 
crouched in a far-off corner of the universe. 
The moon still stuck under the mountain, 
like a penny under a mat, and there you 
are ! I pray you, however, be not cast down 
at the ephemeral triumph of evil. Very 
shortly after this, things righted themselves 
in a way that made the children of earth 
hop with glee. It seems that just at this 
time of the mix-up, Berzellai, a kingly son, 
had become enamored of Respha, a comely 
undine, and daughter of Asia. Know you 
that there was only one power below the 
heavens to suppress the pranks of the jins, 
and that was the sacred glance of the undine. 
They would laugh to scorn any one else, but at 
the light of her eye they would skulk away 
and tremble. So it happened, as luck would 
have it, that Respha came to the land of tur- 
moil, to become the wife of the gallant Ber- 
zellai. As she sailed over the horizon on a 
zephyr, she beheld the people crying and 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


fleeing in terror. Her betrothed now came 
to view, and running to greet her said : 0 

Respha, behold with desolation is our land 
laid desolate. Lift the pall of gloom from 
us and destroy the horrid jins.” Thy will 
is mine, 0 buoyant one ! ” said the fair 
visitor. She paused now ; she sang out in a 
mezzo tone : Ye trembling ones of earth, 

hear my psalm.” And a quiet came in the 
wake of her words. Drink no more of the 
streams that have robbed you of reason. I 
will dry up the poisonous waters, and cause 
new ones to flow.” I am glad to say Respha 
kept her word. 

All the while Ginggob and Gumalub strove 
to cast heated lava from the mountain-top on 
the head of the fair undine. But it rolled 
off her, like water from a rain-coat. So 
they gnashed their teeth, and dragged their 
beards at the thought of their weakness. 
New streams now began to course through 
the valleys like the train of a lady’s dress. 
The kings clapped their hands with joy, and 
the people too drank eagerly of the crystal 
waters, like one who on the night before had 
taken too freely of wine. 

Respha now called for the army that had 
run away at the boo ” of the jins. They 
were still trembling so violently, however, 
that the good Undine pitied them and ^aid 

m 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


calmly : Go hence/’ and they scampering 

went. The fair one now stood and riveting 
her lustrous eyes upon the wicked imps 
muttered some uncanny syllables that only 
she could explain. They had the force of 
lightning forsooth. For no sooner were 
they spoken, than the two wicked little brats 
reeled as though pierced through the heart 
and rolled down the aching sides of Olym- 
pus, and so into the river Styx. That was 
the end of those youngsters. 

The populace now realizing their miracu- 
lous deliverance from a baneful power, 
rushed with a mad gratitude to clasp the 
tresses of Respha and kiss her feet. But 
Berzellai, being a little jealous, I suppose, 
beguiled her away into his leafy bower. 
The old patriarch then blessed their union. 
The earth was now glad once again. 0 joy ! 
The miserable carcasses of Ginggob and 
Gumalub drifted away until they stuck and 
whitened on the shores of Abyssinia, and the 
earth will never see them again. Who 
cares ! 

Many a time and oft, young friends, as I 
ponder on this story, the thought comes to 
me, that the two wicked little jins, were 
nothing less than real satellites of Satan, 
passed up from the infernal regions to 
poison the cooling streams, make the chil- 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


dren of Earth insane, and then, in time, to 
hand it over, thus fettered, to Beelzelub 
himself. Slick scheme ! But it didn’t work. 
At least at that period. It has been passed 
along the line, however, by soul-destroyers 
even to our own day. In our time Satan has 
sent out from his den, more than two jins 
to madden the minds of young Christians. 
To-day he employs thousands in the form of 
shallow-brained loose-moralled novelists, to 
make the conquest. And, alas ! these modern 
Ginggobs and Gumalubs are succeeding 
pretty well. What do I mean ? I mean that 
the one most prolific medium of sweeping 
young souls into ruin to-day is that used 
by many of the modern trashy novelists. 

Dear young friends, all of whom I love, 
inasmuch as you are young toilers for the 
Master, listen patiently, I pray you, to my 
little sermon. I fear that most of you do 
not prize your dignity, as children of God, as 
highly as you should, otherwise you would 
be more cautious, lest you would do any- 
thing to dishonor that title. 

Next to the angels, your Father in heaven 
has given you His sweetest favors. Holy 
Writ tells you that you have been made a 
little less than the angels, by reason of the 
fact that He has endowed you with intellects. 
These wondrous faculties, you can cultivate, 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


by nourishing them with chaste and lofty 
thoughts. They crave food just as your 
bodies do. With the proper care, they will 
become more brilliant each day, just as the 
bud will break into the rose, under the 
breath of May. These little thought- 
creatures are the one faculty that will never 
keep quiet. You especially, little Trojans, 
have minds most active, and imaginations 
most brilliant. They must have something 
‘on which to exercise their energy. The dull 
prosaic things of the work-a-day world, are 
too sombre, too insipid. Therefore some- 
thing of the imaginative, ethereal, fanciful 
type must be constantly served up to you. 
Else, will you grow peevish little rogues ! 
Something to read ! So far so good. Your 
whims should be satisfied. Tack the glossy 
wings to your fantasies, and let them flutter 
where they list,, through God’s wonderland ; 
you will feel the better for your flight. 
Ain’t I generous? But why pervert this 
noble faculty, — why give it leaden wings, 
and make it flutter through a stifled atmos- 
phere ? To be plain, why sink your little faces 
into pages reeking with uncleanliness, when 
you can easily gladden your souls with scenes 
redolent with the incense of heaven ? 

Little friends, I do not confine my re- 
marks solely to novels. They form only one 
207 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


species of pest that I would gladly see swept 
from the fair face of Mother Earth. As 
you jaunt past the public news-stands 
of to-day, how your modest little souls 
are shocked, as the sensuous page and 
periodical flaunt their unholy pictures into 
your blushing faces. Think of the myriads 
of blinded mortals who drink in daily the 
lewd fantasies that glare from these pages. 
Think of the army of satellites employed by 
Satan, in floating out these soul-destroyers 
into the world. Think, too, of how smoothly, 
quietly, yet surely, this cohort of readers and 
writers is drifting along the stream of 
license, into hell. I can only sigh the very 
words found on the frontis-page of one of 
these frivolous sheets : What fools these 
mortals be.’’ 

The cheap novel, periodical, and newspaper 
of our time join forces to accomplish one 
thing, namely: — The blotting out of reli- 
gion and moral sense from the youthful 
soul. You may say, little toilers, that the 
trashy paper you read in the factory, or at 
home, never says anything against virtue or 
faith, as far as you can see. W ell then, you 
can’t see very far. True, they do not openly 
and blatantly decry these lofty aspirations 
of the soul ; they do it, however, with an in- 
sinuating method. They sink the poisonous 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


lance of vicious thought into your minds, 
after they have lulled you to sleep by 
deft use of scented words. 0 ye false pro- 
phets in the garb of shepherds ! you min- 
ers of youthful innocence ! You are the 
brothers of those who stood with bloody eyes 
in the court of Pilate, and incited the people 
to call out : “ Away with Him ! Crucify 
Him ! We have no king but Caesar ! ’’ 

The enemies of Christ, to-day, and of His 
doctrine, will not list to cry out to the 
world and to its followers : Away with 
Him ! ” but, alas, they come to you, even as 
you stood with tear-moist eyes before his 
cross, and tugging at your sleeves, whisper : 

His dectrine is too hard of practice. It 
fetters your freedom too closely. Away 
from Him ! Turn from the Master and from 
His preaching ; we have no king but the 
Caesar of our own passions ! 

Modesty, too, is no longer respected by 
these unbridled thinkers and writers. It has 
been laid away, as far as they can do it, in- 
to the cave of things obsolete.” Yes, 
verily, the greedy world, the lustful world, 
balks to-day at putting its stiff neck into the 
yoke of Christ, — that yoke which He bids us 
wear, telling us the while, that it is sweet 
and light, and that we shall find rest for our 
souls. Nowadays, on the pages of the low 
14 209 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


novel or the sneering pamphlet th6 sentence 
is scrawled, ^^We are free men. The 
Catholic religion was good enough for the 
old ‘ fogeys ’ or religious visionaries who 
lived in the middle ages. We live in an 
epoch in which conditions are vastly different; 
temptation, enticement, for young men and 
young women, are too strong to-day, to be 
resisted. There are so many things to 
excite the concupiscence of the flesh that 
you must sail in to the sating of them, you 
can’t help it.” Alas, how wicked is this 
sophism ! 

This is in short, it seems to me, the trend 
of those pages I would have you avoid. 
What then, do I answer to the things the 
scatterbrain scribbler sings to you ? — I say, 
Christ still reigns, though quite hiddenly, ’tis 
true. As He said to his cruel tormentors of 
yore : This is the hour when darkness and 

sin appear to triumph. This is your day. 
But my day shall come. The day of wrath, 
when ye workers of iniquity, ye destroyers 
of guileless souls shall be swept by the force of 
my wrath into unquenchable fire — where the 
worm dieth not.” But even now, I say, 
Christ still reigns. His Commandments 
still bind. His Church still goes on through 
the world, uplifting hearts that grovelled in 
sin. His maxims must ever he opposed to 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


the world, — His enemy ! The soul is im- 
mortal. Death wdll come to all. There is 
an eternity. There is a hell. And those 
who despise His loving call, His precepts, 
now, shall be driven into everlasting ban- 
ishment, in the world to come. 

Here, little friends, you may take a long 
breath, and rest, after so much serious talk. 
I am not scolding you, you know. 

I place before you another thought, that 
may turn you against trashy ” reading. I 
know it for a fact that the scribblers of the 
low-class novel, and the flippant periodical, are 
men and women whose consciences, have been 
benumbed by the morphine of habitual vice. 
Men and women who have in reality lived 
the sordid scenes they would depict to your 
innocent minds. They are men and women 
who form the scum of humanity, whom decent 
people would not take into their employ. 
Their moral breath is poisonous ; their hearts 
depraved to the core. They have, doubtless, 
ruined the souls of many innocent ones in 
their immediate vicinity, and being satellites 
of Satan, as the imps were, they long to 
scatter their leprous contagion through the 
land, knowing, as they must, that it will 
surely taint many a tender flower. 

Boys and girls, the lew^d novelist or in- 
decent cartoonist is your deadly enemy. 

211 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Down with him ! You, my sturdy young 
men, would sink your knife to the hilt into 
the breast of him who would attempt to 
ruin your darling sister, and who would con- 
demn you? You would strike down with 
your muscular right arm the vile wretch who 
would whisper a sordid suggestion into her 
pure heart — and you would do well. Then, 
you will not allow an enemy more insidious, 
by the medium of an unholy book or paper, 
to accomplish the ruin of her soul. Down 
with the irreligious novelist or journalist ! 
They are the murderers of innocent hearts ! 

I fancy now I see your little face grow 
fretful as you sigh : “ What then am I to 
read ? Am I not entitled to some relaxation 
after my toiling hours ? ” Yes, God bless 
your little hearts, you deserve it. But 
harken ! Some of you little rascals remind 
me of the youngster who roves over the 
beauty of the dandelion when in the near-by 
field bright little daffodils are nodding to 
her. At no time in modern years, perhaps, 
was there such a fund of good books for 
young folks, just like you, as there is at the 
present day. A host of young Catholic 
writers are coursing out daily a fairy-stream of 
stories, novel and rhyme, that are just fitted 
to gladden your little hearts, at the same 
time leading your little feet nearer to the 
212 


GINGGOB AND GUMALUB THE WICKED JINS. 


Master who loves you. Spend your spare 
dimes, then, for stories such as these. I am 
sure you will never regret your purchase. A 
wise man has said, Show me your books, 
and I will tell you what manner of child you 
are.’’ If then your reading — your choice of 
books — is held to be a true exponent of your 
real selves, never be seen perusing a cheap 
novel or paper, else your good name will 
suffer. Never lose sight of the fact that 
you, little toilers, are the favorite friends of 
the Child Jesus. You are working for Him. 
If you love Him as you say, then spend your 
spare moments in reading of His sublime 
life. So, like the little fibre of steel that is 
drawn to the magnet as soon as it comes within 
the zone of its attractive power, so will you 
be drawn to your Little Divine Model — if 
you but steal within the sweet light 
his smiles. And, once you hear the music 
of His voice, you will tarry near Him to 
learn more of His hidden beauty. Nor 
will the sordid things of the world ever 
soil your loyal little hearts again. 


/■ ; " 


2X3 


Cbobotlabomar, tbe 6oob ©iant 


THE PRIEST, YOUR FRIEND. 

Long, long, ago, before the cows could 
moo,” or bonnins had twists in their tails, 
there lived a giant in a lonely corner of 
Asasonthamar. His name was long, as you 
see, so was he, his height being no less than 
two miles. His eyes flashed like lightning, 
and his voice made all the thunder for the 
heavens in those days. The skins of seventy- 
three kids were required to make his shoes, 
and one hundred tailors were ever employed 
in keeping his garments in repair. 

Did this colossal man eat much ? 0, 

quite so ! The vegetables of fourteen acres 
sufficed him only a year, and at each meal he 
devoured three cows and one goat, for, know 
you, in those busy days goat-meat was rated 
a delicacy. Forty-seven flagons of wine were 
about sufficient for an ordinary draught for 
this monster man. Yet withal, I must say 
he was not brusque in any way to the smaller 
brothers of his time, rather the reverse. Of 
course, poov Ohodorlahomar had no play- 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


mates. He would now and then lie on the 
broad of his back on the plains of Sennaar, 
and let the boys and girls, who were about 
our size, I ween, hold their dances on the 
lower lobe of his left ear, the surface of 
which was downy and smooth, and nicely 
fitted for dancing. He could then hear the 
echoes of merriment, and so the old chap was 
happy. This towering man, then, must have 
been an indolent fellow ! Nay, friend, say 
not so. His duty was vitally important. He 
pushed the earth around its axis — kept it 
ever revolving, and through the night, when 
other eyes slumbered, he stayed wide awake, 
keeping vigilance over the gyrations of the 
other planets, who in those days, not being 
so friendly to Mother Earth, were liable to 
bunk into ” her and then jar her delicate 
form. Know you, that in recent times, each 
planet has its own orbit of revolution and 
thus all quarrels are precluded. Wise law ! 

Now, I do not blush to tell you something 
here, for you are my little friends. There 
was an old dame who lived at that time, 
Adalam by name. She was blessed by Provi- 
dence with a large family. Her children 
numbering fifty-nine, — different varieties, of 
course. It may have been this notable fact, 
that made Chodorlahomar so kind to Adalam. 
For deny the fact no one can^ — he loved her, 
21 § 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


The good giant, seeing that poverty was 
staring her and her sons in the face, said to 
her, as softly as he could : Tiny damsel, 
betake thyself and thy progeny to dwell in 
one of mine own shoes, which will make thee 
a commodious domicile. I will defend thee 
and thine against the attacks of the wicked 
ones.” 

Adalam, with heart beating so strong with 
grateful emotion, that it well-nigh broke, 
called her children about her, and said to 
them : Stand ye by the ear of the great 

giant, and in blended voices, shout to him 
that we are grateful for his ofPer, and will 
accept it. Her command was forthwith 
obeyed. The great shoe was set in the plain 
of Sennaar and amidst canticles and gayety 
the glad sons entered in. Just at this time, 
so I learn, the work of Chodorlahomar be- 
came very hazardous. The unruly planets 
kept kicking up their heels, violating all the 
laws of gravitation, and of propriety too, I 
trow. 

One night, as he sat astride the North-pole 
keeping the globe on the spin, lest it might 
fall asleep, he saw ugly old Saturn, come 
staggering along entirely out of his element. 
The good giant, made a leap to push off the 
intruder. In doing so, sad to tell, he mis- 
judged the distance, and fell off into space. 

m 


CHODORLAHOMAIi, tHE GOOD GIaNT. 


0 horror! To this day no vestige of his 
whereabouts has been learned. Poor old 
fellow 1 Adalanij and her sons, had scarcely 
entered the commodious shoe, when their 
eyes danced as they found the soles thereof 
were lined with purest gold. Thrifty set 
that they were, they instantly got to work 
to roll it into quobs ’’ or coins. So, you 
see, the source of their wealth became really 
inexhaustible. The life of the noted family 
now became very pleasant. You can satisfy 
many whims, you know, when you find the 
soles of your shoes to be lined with gold. 

Think you the whole career of Adalam 
and her sons was given up to feasting and 
song ? No, verily, no. The old mother was 
a foxy ” dame. She drew her sons before 
her in a line one day, on the plain, and said 
she : Harken ye, all ! here are my plans 

for your future, with which you will all con- 
form. Now that wealth has poured into our 
hands, let us be wise. I will it, that each of 
you my precious, ones, shall go laden with 
treasure to each of the countries of the world 
and bring back wisdom, and a knowledge of 
the arts and sciences, that you will find 
there.” 0, mother, thy will is ours 1 ” did 
the fifty-seven make reply. So, on the 
morrow, off they set, after an exchange of 
touching farewells. Good mother Adalam 
217 


SHORT TALKS TO YOtJNO TOILERS. 


stood on the top of the shoe, which was 
about an inch less than three hundred feet in 
length, and waved her hand to them, till the 
gatliering mists of evening took them from 
view. 

As I have said before, the world at that 
time, was just reeking with wicked bandits, 
men whose conscience bade them shed inno- 
cent gore, if only the gelt would accrue. It 
was their wont to lurk behind dark boulders 
and in uncanny places, where the sun or 
moon would be ashamed to be found. 
After a few days, two of the brothers, who 
had taken separate tracks, found that they 
eventually met near the side of a gloomy 
old quarry, whence some of the precious 
stones for Baltassar’s boudoir were taken. 
The names of these two happy brothers, 
were Way-o-Guc, and Tash-la the elder. 
Their hearts at this period being buoyant, 
their strides were proportionably quicker, 
so that instead of passing twenty league- 
stones a day, they passed forty, and so, 
though they knew it not, they soon came to 
the city of Haran, whose dwellers were made 
up solely of plunderers and thieves. On the 
black walls that embraced the city, a line of 
skulls was fastened a few feet apart, and 
stretched away many miles. The poor 
youths being always accustomed to inno^ 
218 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


cence of life never dreamed that one man 
could harm another. So, they heeded not 
the hideous grin of the skulls, but hastened 
to the palace of the ruler, whose name was 
Phaleg. Here, alas, their young hearts were 
chilled to the core, when a cohort of ill 
visaged satellites hastened to meet them. 
They sprang forth, and with hemp-strings 
bound the little wayfarers hand and foot, 
and carried them before the nasty old 
monarch. 

‘^Aha! Two more?’’ asked he with a 
wicked grin. Yea, forsooth,” shouted the 
black-capped lictor. That makes fifty- 
seven now in the dungeon.” From this un- 
conscious revelation Wag-o-Guc and Tash-la, 
knew that the brothers had been taken even 
as they. They were convinced after a mo- 
ment too, when the king showed them that 
every road, in that part of the world, led to 
his palace, as the legs of a spider lead to 
the body. 

Into a chilly dungeon the two late arrivals 
were now thrown. Its light was of a bluish 
hue, the atmosphere fetid. The poor pris- 
oners groped about in a hapless way. They 
could see nothing, however. But they could 
hear, alas I for they caught the sounds of 
moaning and wailing, and they recognized 
the voices of their brothers in the next dun- 
219 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNa TOILERS. 

geon. Ye heavens ! no power can save 
us now,” they all cried in a maestro chorus. 

Farewell, good mother Adalam ! Farewell, 
Asasonthamar our fertile plain ! ” Like the 
song of a Syren along the sea, fainter the 
cry became, the blue light went away, and 
coal-black darkness came in its stead. 

At that dread hour, good mother Adalam, 
knowing not the peril of her fifty-seven sons, 
sat on the toe of the great shoe, and be- 
sought heaven to bring her darlings to her 
in safety. Until now, I forgot to state, that 
Tash-la, the eldest of the sons, had done 
glorious service in the army of Cetthim, 
King of Madagascar. There, he learned the 
secret of spirit-summoning. That is, he 
knew the weird words, the very call of which 
would hasten good spirits to his side. It 
seems, too, that the said spirits, must ever be 
called upon at the instant of midnight. The 
moments crept by like snails on a slimy rock. 

‘‘ 0 Ephron ! 0 exalted one ! come and 

claim Tash-la, thy client, and his brothers, 
from this dungeon ! ” rang the cry at last 
through the ill-smelling caverns. It startled 
the half-conscious brothers to their feet. 
Instantly, a gleam of light annihilated all 
gloom. 

A fair young knight stood before the im^ 
prisoned brothers, and meekly bowing said ; 

220 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


0 languishing ones, what will you that I 
do for you?’’ ^‘0 thou valiant friend of 
mighty sword,” sighed Tash-la, ‘‘ see our 
distress and aid us. Lead us hence to free- 
dom, yea, out again into heaven’s own sun- 
hght and fragrant air. Yea, more, guide us 
on the trail homeward to Adalam our mother, 
who pines for us, murmuring ever and anon 
to heaven, sweet prayers that no evil befall 
us.” Just here, his words dribbled along 
into an indistinct whimper, in which the 
other fifty-six joined, calling, Spare us, 0 
Ephron ! ” 

The mysterious knight, now removed his 
helmet and from it pulled the twenty green 
plumes that swayed from its vertex. Again, 
he took these feathers, one by one, and with 
his pointed index nail touched each delicate 
strand. At the instant of his touch, these 
filmy little things transformed themselves 
into wicked little wasps numbering surely a 
million. My ! what a hubbub the impor- 
tant little creatures made. At the shout of 
Ephron, however, they ceased their buzzing, 
and poised motionless before him. It was 
marvellous to know that these tiny tor- 
mentors could understand human speech. 
For when by a sweep of his sword the gal- 
lant saver of the fifty-seven said, Go, 
d^strojr the §on§ of Phaleg,” they darted 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


through the crevices and chinks of the dun- 
geon, and swept through the streets of the 
city. Now, even the massive walls of the 
prison began to shiver violently, and fell 
finally to pieces. On the instant, the glad 
sons of Adalam, hastened into the fragrant 
air. 0, benediction be on thine own 
head ! ” they all sang as they knelt to kiss the 
hand of Ephron. But he being now much 
agitated, shouted, Behold ye all the ruin of 
the city of Haran.’’ The sons did look. 
True, the sight was appalling. Heaps of 
dead lay on every highway, their features 
distorted and swollen from the poisonous 
sting of fiery wasps. 0, see,” cried Tash- 
la to his kin ! even Phaleg the bloody one 
has fallen,” and so he had. 

The work of decimation being now done, 
the million wasps swept like a sand-storm 
over the sea to Madagascar. Ephron now 
turned to his liberated friends and said, 0 
valiant ones ! I rejoice that I have saved 
ye from torture and death. I know your 
family tree from root to blossom. I am akin 
to Chodorlahomar who fell into space, some 
years ago. He was ever your defender, so 
will I be. Henceforth this shall be your 
city. On the imperial seat Adalam your 
mother shall sit, as Queen, and, you shall be 
her Senators, In a few days, sons and 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


daughters shall spring up from the calices of 
the myriad lilies, to people anew the land.” 
Here, Ephron passed a white feather over 
the brow of each. At the instant of touch, 
all knowledge streamed into their intellects, 
so that they had no further need to travel 
for study. 

Saying a fond adieu to each, Ephron 
now leaped upon a white steed that had 
come from heaven knows where, and gallop- 
ing through mid-air, was soon lost to sight. 
Tash‘la now turned his glistening eyes to 
the East and sang, 0 come, Adalam, our 
mother, and rule over this fertile valley.” 
Scarcely had the words been spoken, when 
the eyes of the fifty-seven danced as they 
saw hastening over the dale their mother re- 
clining in a dainty silk-trimmed chariot. Just 
as Ephron had said, in two days little rosy- 
cheeked lads and lassies began popping into 
the world from the calices of the lilies. They 
now ran to the feet of Adalam, sweetly 
singing, Behold, 0 gracious Queen, your 
loving subjects. Eule us with your sceptre.” 
I hear the number of children thus born 
into the world was thirteen millions. What 
a splendid new nation they made ! Queen 
Adalam, after a time called the new city. 
Ooliab, which means peace. There were no 
prisons in it, — no graveyards, Of course, 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


this paralyzed a couple of industries, but all 
were happy. The great shoe on the plain 
of Asasanthamar, I am told, was soon 
afterward taken possession of by a thousand 
witches who, finding no gold in it, cut it up 
into leathern switches, which they sold to the 
schoolmasters to be used on the backs of 
stubborn pupils. 

W asn’t it fortunate that Tash-la the elder 
and his kith had friends so true as Chodor- 
lahomar, and Ephron, to call to their aid. 
Were they not so lucky, I feel, that by 
sunrise, their dainty little bodies, would have 
been dangling from some rugged limb in 
tlie forest — and their golden stars taken 
from them. Let us not worry, however, over 
what might have happened. Everything 
turned out just lovely. 

You, my little toilers, are in dire need of a 
friend and protector such as the two who 
came across the path of Adalam and her 
sons. Even more than they, do you need a 
counsellor, a guide, in a word, a true friend 
in your travels through this snare-laid land. 
Like them you are thrown out upon the 
world amongst all sorts of evil enticements, 
and there is no one to point out the pitfalls 
to you. Every one meets you with a smile, 
and says, “ Come, make merry and dance 
the day k living,” and no pne takes 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


the pains to pause you in your race after 
phantoms, and show you the half-hidden rocks 
against which you may at any moment steer 
your little craft, and alas ! be wrecked. 

0, my little toilers, my heart, yea, the heart 
of every priest, goes out to you, because you 
are moving through this wicked world almost 
friendless. Yes. I know you may have 
good fathers and mothers, but oh, you need 
more, you need a friend, whose lips are even 
more gifted with wisdom than theirs, to 
counsel you. You need a friend, who will 
stand by you when Death with his merciless 
scythe shall have swept them out of the 
world. You need a friend who can place 
over your little hearts, an impregnable 
spiritual armor. You need a friend who is 
in daily communion with the King of kings. 
You need a friend who will stand by you 
in sunshine or in sorrow. You need a 
friend, finally, who will grasp you by the 
hand at the hour when others have proven 
faithless. To bring my thoughts to a point, 
you need the priest as your confidant and 
your friend. 

After the heart of your own mother, there 
is none other that leans to you with love such 
as his, for you are the most precious part of 
his little flock. The tots at school are 
hedged about each hour by good and holy 
15 225 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


words and example. They slumber when 
the world grows wickedest. The older folks 
are either well drilled in the art of self-de- 
fence, or else experience has taught them a 
bitter lesson. Besides, in the two foregoing 
classes, temptation is not so strong. But you, 
my little begrimed faced soldiers, stand unpro- 
tected on the battlements, where the darts 
of Satan are ever levelled at you. 

Then too, your little hearts are often heavy. 
As you send the wheel spinning around, 
or wield the hammer, ofttimes, I know, 
your eyes fill up with briny tears, as you re- 
call your sad lot, or perhaps the unhappiness 
of your homes. You may tell your tale to 
your chum Danny or Katie, but their oflt- 
handed Cheer up ” is not sufficiently sooth- 
ing. You need then a friend, fatherly, loyal, 
true. Is there such a one in this world, just 
fora working boy or girl? Yes, there is. 
The priest is essentially your friend. His 
heart often yearns to be near you — but 
some how or other you little rascals seem to 
dodge him. You labor under the notion 
that the priest would rather be engaged in 
chatting with little soft-faced chaps that 
wear fluffy ” ties and talk cute. No, no, my 
little honest men and women, if you hold to 
such a belief, you do the priest a grave 
injustice. Why, your spiritual father would 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


rather shake your little fists blackened as 
as they are by the soot of the mill, than he 
would the lily-white hands of all the Lord 
Fauntleroys ” that v ever lived. Take my 
word for it. 

The true priest, should ever be at heart a 
counterpart of the Divine Model, — an Alter 
Christus,” another Christ. Scarcely a day 
passed that did not witness Him hastening 
into those valleys and fields wherein he was 
sure to find His little lovers, frolicking with 
the sheep. When one of the little black 
eyes ” caught sight of the Master’s sweet face, 
a shout went up, a shout of gladness, and the 
little barefoot army would run to greet their 
dearest Friend, yea, almost sweep Him off 
His feet. 

You are little toilers in the field of the 
Lord. The priest is the shepherd of souls. 
Therefore your shepherd. Are you glad at 
his coming ? Is there in your heart a feeling 
of affection for him ? Do you run to greet 
him as you see him passing along the high- 
way ? If not, then the proper relation, that 
of love, does not hold between you. Why, 
the very title you give a priest tells you 
what you should be to him. You hail him as 
Father,” therefore you must be his spirit- 
ual children. Yet, sad to say, you allow 
the stream of estrangement to widen be- 
227 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


tween you and him as soon as the sunny 
school-days are ended. I cannot say, from 
conviction, that the priest is at fault. 
Therefore for once, I decide against you. 

I would consider him a friend who, when 
he saw me erring, would tell me of my fault, 
even though his words cut into my heart. 
When some of you little frisky sheep begin to 
skip off to dangerous places, you know how 
sharply your spiritual father spoke to you 
of your folly even as there was a trace of ire 
in his words. Therefore he is your friend. 
I would rate him a friend who was ever near 
at hand when misfortune visited me, and 
who is so close to you as the priest when 
gloom hangs over you, when sin dejects 
your young souls ? It is hy the uplifting of 
his hand, his holy hand, that the bond of 
sin is broken and you are raised by angels 
once again into the zone of gladness. When 
poverty or sickness invade your homes, the 
Messenger of Peace, comes at your call, be 
it night or day, and by his gentle words and 
blessed anointing, he checks you from your 
rush to the brink of despair. When the 
chill hand of death takes from you a loved 
one, it is again the priest who comes to you, 
and sings the last farewell note of requiem 
over the one that is called away, and often 
his notes are stifled by the tears that would 
22 $ 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


flow because of the tenderness of liis heart. 
And, when the beloved form is laid away in 
the bosom of earth, his prayerful voice is 
the last that is heard ere the tomb is sealed. 
Yes, his heart is in sympathy with all forms 
of misery amongst his flock. In truth, then, 
can he say with his Master : I have com- 
passion on the multitude.’’ 

Sometimes I see little tots standing by the 
edge of a river. They bring with them 
their tiny boats with spotless sails. Soon 
they reach out, and set the little craft on the 
bosom of the waters, a puff of wind comes 
lazily along, and kisses the sails. Off goes 
the little flyer, bounding over the waves. It 
is soon lost to view. The youthful mariner 
does not lose interest in the wanderings of 
the little craft. He tarries by the shore till 
dusk comes, and forsooth he is often re- 
warded by seeing his runaway heading 
homeward again, to meet his embrace. 

V ery like this, is the relation of the priest 
to you. When you walked out of the school- 
room, you went with his God-speed.” He 
watched your course carefully, though per- 
haps you knew it not. As the years passed 
on, he waited by the shore — the old scene 
when you parted from him — and looked 
longingly out to catch a glimpse of you. 
Alas, how often did he look in vain ! How 
229 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


often has many a girl and boy left the priest 
at the school door, and returned to him only 
when the cruel wind of misfortune swept 
him or her back to the old mooring of child- 
hood days. 

But why need I scold any further ? I know 
your seeming indifference to the priest’s 
care, was a fault of the head, not of the 
heart. Henceforth, I know you are going 
to hold your spiritual father in the true 
esteem he deserves. And you are going to 
let your little hearts repose in his care with 
a feeling of absolute confidence. O, then, 
come to him when tiny thorns pierce your 
tender feet. He will gently draw them out 
and soothe your heaving hearts with the old 
sacred psalm, Sursum corda.” 

Another thought, little friends, and I will 
close this chat. Since the priest is one of 
the loyalest of friends to you, you have some 
obligations to him. Let me speak of solely 
one. That of defending his honor before 
the world. The priest is a mysterious char- 
acter. No one in the world is like to him. 
He passes along the years casting here and 
there the fragrance of good works and ex- 
ample. His life seems only too short when 
he passes away, many tears are shed, but 
alas ! he is soon forgotten — by those dearest 
to him. Yes, he is a strange character ; 


CHODORLAHOMAR, THE GOOD GIANT. 


those inside the fold know the motives that 
prompt him to activity. But, alas, the world, 
ah ! the cruel world, does not fathom him. 
The modern Pharisees (and they are many) 
say he is seeking wealth, fame, and the like, 
or again, that he lives a life of ease. 

Here is the point, then, little toilers, that 
I would drive home. You hear these bitter 
carpings against the priest’s good name now 
and then, by vile tongues. Stand up bravely 
and resent these criticisms born of igno- 
rance, and bigotry. Tell that base reviler, 
what the life of the priest means. Insist on 
him speaking of the priestly name with re- 
spect ; if he does not, teach him by the most 
drastic measure you can employ, that in in- 
sulting the priest he is wounding your most 
sacred feeling. What would you say and do 
if a vile wretch were to speak with levity of 
the father you love ? Why, you would lay 
him low — by a sweep of your little muscular 
right arm, and you would do well in so act- 
ing. Your spiritual father, I think, is deserv- 
ing of the same loyalty. You are little sol- 
diers of Christ. The priest is your com- 
manding ofl&cer, be true to him, and you 
will find him a loving friend, who holds 
friendship to be a sacred bond. 


231 


H)an H^ventute, 


THE DEADLY VICE. 

Dan Pike’s little heart thumped away 
with a ceaseless yearning to be a sailor. 
Perhaps surroundings had much to do with 
the birth of this desire. 0 lovely sea/’ he 
was often heard to say, as he strolled along 
the white sands in the morning, ‘‘ how I’d 
love to rest on your bosom always.” My ! 
Dan had a poetic twist in his brain, hadn’t 
he ? So fond of the heaving waves was he, 
that, it is said, he shunned all playmates in 
the village. He would betimes sit on the 
clumps of turf near the fringe of the shore, 
and say sweet things to them, that he should 
have spent on some tidy lassie, up the lane. 

Poets are born, not made. So, I suppose 
it is true in parallel, that mariners and pilots 
are born, not made. That’s a good thing 
for the pilots. The dad of my little hero, 
was a fisherman taut and true. He had 
been for the greater part of his life. As all 
right fishermen do, his pop owned many 
skipp^TS, with names ranging from the lowly 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


Maggie J.” to that of the comely Venus.” 
It was Dan’s duty to keep the skiffs well 
staked, and to bail them out, where water 
had stolen in through the chinks in the 
bottom. So, the lad stood on terms of inti- 
macy not only with Maggie J., but with her 
also, of snow-white tresses, Venus De Milo. 

One day, the young chap stood with his 
dreamy eyes lurking on the spotless tresses 
of ‘‘ Maggie J.” Some desperate thoughts 
were evidently having a tussle in his noddle, 
for his brow was all wrinkled. Suddenly, 
as though popped out of a gun, Dan popped 
into the fond embrace of Maggie J.” He 
tugged at the guy-ropes, and soon the queen 
of the sea had her white wings stretched 
out to the breeze, seeming to say, ‘‘ Come to 
me, 0 ye gentle zephyrs.” Well, the zephyrs 
came, so they did. The pretty craft lurched 
forward, then rolled over on its side, and 
headed for the heart of the sea, wherever 
that is. 

Dan now began to say bold things to 
himself, about his ability as a helmsman. 
He was certainly doing fine. The hours 
flew by, like express trains past the station. 

Now,” said he, with a nod of the head, 

Maggie, old girl, you must tack around, 
for its coming on to night.” Like the pro- 
verbial mule, however, Maggie soprted ^^Nay ! 

?33 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


nay ! ’’ and kept right on her course due 
East. Dan grew irritable, why shouldn’t he ? 
Cranky ship ! So he strained and pulled at 
the wheel. No twist to Maggie J.” Final- 
ly in desperation, Dan began hauling down 
jib and mainsail. No stop. The flighty 
craft seemed to snort, I’m a through train,” 
and so she was. Did the young mariner 
whimper and become afraid of the uncon- 
trollable propensity of the boat ? No ! no ! 
Brave Dan ! Night now spread over the 
sea. Dan coiled himself up in the stern, put 
his head on a cushion, and said stoically : 
“ Now, fly away, you mule. Go where you 
please.” Whiz, went ‘‘ Maggie J.” through 
the spray. She kicked and rolled, the lad 
cared naught, now, for he was fast asleep. 
Sharks, wild of eye, here and there peered 
up at Dan as a hungry man does at a free- 
lunch, but they got only a look in.” The 
sun was out of bed an hour earlier the next 
morning, and was tickling the little sleeper 
under the chin with his soft rays. Dan woke 
with a sudden toss of the head, Smokes ! 
where am I,” he drawled lazily. Say, Mag- 
gie J., where are you going to stop anyway ? ” 
But the possessed bark shot on. 0 merri- 
ment,” cried Dan at last swinging his cap in 
the air, Land ! Land ! Do you know, 
that so swiftly was ‘^Maggie J.” shooting the 

m 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


rapids, that ere the echoes of the second 
land ” had died, the young sailor was sit- 
ting flat on the purple beach with a silly 
look on his face. 

“ 0 you wretch ! ” he cried, glaring at 
Maggie J.” fiercely. Like an untamed colt, 
the running craft turned tail to the boy, and 
off she went, like smoke in a gale of wind. 

0, mercy me ! where am I ? ” cried poor 
little Dan looking wearily at the disappear- 
ing craft. “ First stop ! this is Polynesia,” 
said a fair damsel who brushed aside the 
huge leaves and stood smiling at Dan’s fool- 
ish expression. My face feels so funny 
when I talk,” grinned the lad, holding his 
jaw. That’s not strange,” rejoined the 
damsel. “ The mortal who sets foot on Poly- 
nesia, learns the language, by instant con- 
tact.” ^^Well! those are swell words, but 
I s’pose you mean well,” said Dan drolly. 

What is your name ? ” queried the boy 
looking quizzically into the face of the maid. 

Pincha,” she said musingly. 0, pshaw, 
that name reminds me of a ‘ cop ’ at home,” 
said the lad with a grin. 

The two new acquaintances now strolled 
inward, and sat on a rustic seat of twisted 
roots, which the natives had fashioned. 
From this bench, a long lane paved with 
cocoa fibre, and bordered with palms, 
235 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


stretched funnel-wise to the ocean. The 
fronds of the trees quivered like agitated 
silhouettes against the blaze of the morning 
sun. All this time Pincha was talking 
smoothly on the loveliness of her native coun- 
try. But Dan, didrCt, — couldnH like her 
name. It was ominous. So, her dulcet 
words fell meaningless on his ear. 

Say ! ’’ said the little chap at last, piqued 
at the swell verbiage of the dame, is there 
any one else on this island but you ? ” ^^0 
yes,” quoth the damsel fair, its confines em- 
brace a people two millions in number. 

‘‘ Gracious ! ” exclaimed the lad raising his 
brows. Any kids like me here ? ” O 
yes, the boys outnumber the girls,” Pincha 
made answer in a low voice. ‘‘ Good ! ” 
said Dan, let us meet some of ’em, won’t 
you. Miss ? ” ^^0, surely, most gracious 

stranger,” answered the dame.” She here 
pressed a lump on the side of a tree when 
suddenly, the towering figure of a man 
stood before the trembling youth. ^^You 
pressed the wrong button, fair one,” thought 
Dan, to himself. However, the boy-mariner 
was glad to change the subject, and then 
too, the tall one, had a remarkably good face, 
and kindly eyes. Who’s the mogul?” 
softly whispered Dan to his guide.) “ Ah, 
call him not raspy names, my boy, for he i^ 
^36 



** Who's the Mogul softly whispered Dan 
to his guide. 




SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


our priest,” Priest ? ” gasped the lad, as 
he leaped to his feet in joy. Yea, verily,” 
did Pincha make reply. A priest of the 
serpent of Fongo,” His name is Tehata. 

Oh ! moaned Dan in dismay, I thought 
maybe he was a priest like Father Mulli- 
gan.” 

0 diminutive stranger from far ofP land,” 
began his lofty reverence, in round ripe 
tones. I am pleased to grasp your strong 
hand.” A funny look came over the little 
rascal’s face at all this elegant talk. Through 
innate respect, however, Dan stammered 
back : I’m pleased to meet yo’, fadder.” 

Now, just as in the final scene of a comic 
opera, where all the spangled flimsy chorus 
comes tripping on, Dan beheld a swarm of 
the natives, come clustering around him. 
They were all passing comely, like she of 
the terrible name, Pincha. Of course Dan 
shook ” with all the boys. 

Here, like Japanese music, which at first 
grates on a classic ear, yet which becomes 
soothing as it goes on, the songs of the 
natives became exceedingly pleasant to the 
little harp.” That glad sensation of being 
perfectly at home now came over Dan’s 
nerves. Much like the old Tad ” at the 
christening, rosy with “ potheen,” who insists 
on making another toast, Tihata rose up, 
238 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


and folding his arms on his broad chest 
squared ” for another address. White and 
plump child of the western world/’ the kind 
old priest began. You are alone with us, 
hence it is our duty to warn you of the 
dangers of the land. Roam where you list, 
but go not nigh to the pool of Lalusta which 
is athwart those hills, whose brow is blessed 
with light, but whose feet dabble in stenchy 
water ; you are human, you are frail. Should 
you ever catch the echo of her voice and 
yearn to go to her bower, take this shell 
into which I have sung, and the charm 
shall be broken. Beware ! beware ! of the 
dreaded Lalusta.” She will pose as enticing 
and lithe of form. Her face is fair, and in- 
nocent of guise. But she is a syren, whose 
song once having overpowered you, she 
will quickly cast you into a pit of fire, which 
satellites ever keep stirring.” Saying this, 
Tehata handed the boy the lucky shell. 
Dan jumped up, and should have made a 
few remarks. All he could stammer, how- 
ever, was ‘^I’m awful t’ankful sir, for dis 
gift.” 

Suddenly, the whole crowd that had 
clustered around Dan melted from view, just 
like the rapid change scenes at the theatres. 

My ! what shiny days they have here,” 
muttered the delighted boy. Here, the 
239 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNO TOILERS. 


moon is shining again. I s’pose I may as well 
go to sleep on the top of this moss,” so 
yawning and stretching, he rolled into the 
little bunk. His dreams must certainly have 
been a mixed metaphor, for he smiled and 
frowned by turns. The moon may have been 
playing pranks on him. At any rate, he 
woke up after an hour, — very peevish. 

Pshaw,” he snapped, as only a boy can, 

I’m going over and have a swim — phew ! 
its more’n hot.” Dan was always self- 
willed, so off he went like a streak while 
the crossed fingers of the tanglewood, tried 
to hold him back. He saw monster pythons 
coiled about the trees, asleep. Yet he 
pushed on. Something was drawing him to 
the mysterious pool. ‘‘ No, no,” he cried 
at length, why should I fear, when I have 
my sabre in my girdle ? ” — and he felt for 
it. 

At last he came suddenly upon the pool. 
Its waters were perfumed. A strange de- 
lirium swept through his brain, at sight of it. 
He peeled off his toga, and dove in. As he 
did, a sweet voice sighed through the trees. 
Its tones seemed to intoxicate him. Ah,” 
he said, how beautiful, how gratifying ! ” 
as he crawled like one under the spell of an 
opiate, upon the bank. It was the voice of 
Lalusta. She had risen out of the water^ 
240 


Dan DIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


like a mist of morn. At last his little eyes 
became as two diamonds, they glistened so, 
in their mad stare. Before him, the sylph- 
like form of a naiad surpassingly fair writhed 
in mid-air, like a phosphorescent column 
<of iE^lit. He grew weak, he trembled, as he 
Deallized that it verily was Lalusta, in flimsy 
ttiesses, who wantonly approached him. He 
.struggled to turn away his gaze. It would 
mot bend. He strove to cry out, but his 
voice was soundless. He grasped his sabre 
; and swung it madly. It swished through the 
:air, yet Lalusta’s fragrant tempting form 
came nearer. Her smiles overpowered him. 
He recalled now, the warning of Tihata, that 
the fair-one concealed death and torture in 
her fiendisli smile and embrace. Dan now 
felt his senses going from him, like one 
swooning into a faint. The unchaste figure 
at last threw awide her arms. Her song 
sank into a lustful cooing, when the hand of 
the boy fell unwittingly upon the shell 
which the good old priest had given him. 
True as fate ! He caught the faint strain of 
melody within it. His eyes were again free. 
His arms unfettered. He looked up, just in 
time to see the insidious form of Lalusta reel, 
like one pierced through the heart, and fall 
with a splash into the pool, giving out as she 
did, a piteous moan, like one dying in de- 
i6 241 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


spair. Dan had the good sense to keep his ear 
to the shell. The night soon resumed its 
quiet. The poor lad was so fatigued by 
his struggle, he fell into a deep slumber. 
Nor did it cease until he heard the call of 
the lark above his head. Just here the 
bushes began to sway and rustle, as though 
running from a mad wind. But no wind was 
moving. At last Pincha’s face beamed from 
behind a hedge. You’re bound to bob up 
when I’m in trouble, ain’t ye ? ” whined Dan. 
But the Polynesian maid heeded not his 
plaint. “ See, 0 wanderer,” she called to 
the lad nervously. Lo ! here comes the 
vessel that brought you hither, with bow 
resting upon the purple sands. Where, oh, 
where ? ” gasped the little chap, with a spring. 
By this time, he had caught sight of ‘‘ Maggie 
J.,” the runaway. When she and the sailor 
lad met glances, there was a fond embrace. 

0 Maggie, you mean thing, how could you 
treat me so?” murmured Dan, as he let 
himself slowly into her lap once more. The 
gentle craft now switched round, and headed 
for home. The young runaway sat in the 
stern waving his cap to Pincha. Say,” he 
shouted, just before he sailed out of range, 
^^tell your fadder he’s a kind old man. 
Good-bye.” Now he began to give Maggie 
J.” a verbal lacing in an undertone. But, 
242 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


mercy, he had given voice to only a few sen- 
tences, when, bang ! he was landed against his 
father’s wharf. You know you always get 
home quicker than you leave. 

After reading this tale, any unprejudiced 
jury would say that Dan Pike was consist- 
ently foolish. This youngster did so many 
unwise things. I will tarry only to consider 
one. This was his trip to the pool, where he 
knew that close by Lalusta lurked. She 
who was known to gladden the heart of her 
victim for a moment then to tear his hapless 
body into shreds. If it had not been for 
that singing shell, Dan’s poor bones, would 
now be whitening on the shores of that far 
off land of Polynesia. 

Dear boys and girls, in this talk I wish to 
speak to you of a virtue, that is as delicate 
as the pupil of your eye and is as easily 
tarnished as the petal of a modest lily. 
Chastity is the virtue whereof I speak, and 
would to heaven that my lips were sanctified 
even as those of an angel, so that my words 
would fall with the proper holiness upon 
your ears. You will harken to my plea, 
however ; I know you will. To a mere 
spiritual visionary, how pitiable it is to 
think that little ones should ever have to 
grow up into sterner years, and lay aside 
their sweet baby notions. Innocence and 
243 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


chastity are such lovely gifts of the soul. 
It is the fragrance of these virtues that 
makes childhood so amiable. Yet, we all 
must leave the fanciful years, and pass 
through this wicked tempting world, and so 
on to our tombs. W e must battle for heaven 
against the cravings, and corrupt nature that 
we carry with us. Alas ! sin did it all, I 
know. Take away the spiritual element of 
man, and he becomes a craving animal, 
thirsting ever to sate those base tendencies 
that make the beasts what they are. 

What a strange flood of thought hurries 
through the mind of a child when having 
kissed the land of toys ‘^good-bye,’’ he 
mounts the bridge, and then crosses into the 
country where new sensations stir the soul 
and move the feelings of his body. He 
knows not, alas, in his innocence what they 
mean ; he blushes at their enticings, he 
knows not the language they speak. His 
better nature recoils with horror, as at last, 
it dawns on him that he has many leanings 
in common with the brute below him. 

0 little stranger, how I pity you as I see 
you sail away in the fair morning out into 
the dark sea of the world, where ten thou- 
sands monsters lay in wait to decoy you 
into their power. Some of you have already 
made this journey. You have felt the vile 
244 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


hand tugging at you, to come aside and taste 
the forbidden fruit. I know, however, what 
most of you have said in that trying moment. 

No, never, I am above the animal. My 
mind is made to dwell on God and the loveli- 
ness of His chaste mother. My thoughts 
must tend heavenward, as my soul will one 
day take its flight thither.’’ 

Then, the youthful follower of the Master 
draws the sword, and gloriously fells the foul 
dragon. He is fatigued, yes. The struggle 
was long and vicious. The little innocent 
one consoles himself with the thought : 

Ah, well, I have slain my seducer, and I 
shall be allured no more.” Scarcely, how- 
ever, has the fever cooled, and the sweat 
dried, when another beast of prey comes and 
tries to reach the young heart’s blood. Now, 
for the first time, O, sad revelation ! it dawns 
on the young blushing knight, that the 
struggle which he has just ended, will be 
renewed only too soon. It must go on to 
the end of his weary journey across the 
weary stretch, to his home. 

You, little toilers, have crossed the stream 
that cuts you off from the years of innocent 
babyhood. You are thrown in a scattered 
fashion into the desert of life. For each of 
you the struggle lies open. The fight 
against the vice of unchastity, is a ceaseless 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


one. 0, then, be on your guard. If this 
monster of uncleanliness were wont to at- 
tack young souls, always in open combat, 
they could ever and anon be on the watch, 
with their sabre of prayer. But no, you are 
aware, even as I, that this is not the plan of 
attack used by the lustful demon. In fact, 
most of the time, he lurks, even as Lalusta 
did for Dan, in the sweet places of ease and 
sensuality. The voice of enticement begins 
soft and low. Vice is often burdened with 
a pleasing melody. It is fair to the wonder- 
ing youthful eye. Its smile is almost irre- 
sistible. The nearer the youth approaches 
its lithe flimsy-clad form (that is, the oc- 
casion of sin), the more insensible to God’s 
grace he becomes. Until, at last, with a 
languid sensuous smile, her arms are slowly 
thrown awide, to embrace the weakening 
soul. When remembering, perchance, the 
magic voice that the good priest gave him, 
the voice of prayer, he harkens to it at the 
critical moment. Strength — power — seem 
to pour in with its melody. Lalusta, or 
lust, seeing that the victim has taken on a 
force that cannot be overcome, — falls back 
into hell defeated. 

My words, I trow, are vague and murky 
to many of you. It is not needful, however, 
that I speak more plainly, nor would I, 
246 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


since I feel you catch my meaning as I 
speak. 

What care you, young friends, if the 
combat be long ? God is with you. His grace 
will light your way. And Paradise awaits 
you. Even in this life the rewards of sub- 
duing passion are glorious. First of all, each 
victory you win forges a new coat of armor 
about your heart, so that its defense will be 
strong ever afterwards. Again, when the 
heat of conflict passes away, there comes 
stealing over your soul a feeling of peace 
that is, no doubt, a foretaste of heaven's 
bliss. Though the world be giddy and 
garrulous about you, the Master steals close 
by and whispers : Courage, my child — it 
won't be long." A gleam of Mary's smile, 
too, centres on the features of the young 
victor, so that wherever he goes, others can 
see that calm light in his eye that needs no 
words to tell. I fain would stop here, 
young friends, and leave hidden the counter- 
part of this picture. But I must not — we 
cannot, forsooth, claim that Lalusta is al- 
ways defeated. No, no. Our hearts bleed, 
as we must confess, that at the present day, 
she is the despot that sways the hearts of thou- 
sands of young men and women into misery 
and despair. By some she is placed upon a 
gaudy pedestal, fashioned from the rotten 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


hearts of many of her votaries. The incense 
of flattery is burned to her. The young and 
old alike lay their gold at her feet. Yes, 
in truth, she moves the wand of her charm 
over whole nations. To the grace-enlight^ 
ened, however, she is not deceiving — Her 
song is always slow and sensual. Her 
touch despair. Her smile and embrace are 
ruin and death, — Yea, death, temporal — 
eternal. 

God forbid that I should step beyond the 
bounds of delicacy in my talk to you boys; 
and girls. Let me say, however, that it is; 
the foul taint of this vice of impurity that; 
is plucking the bloom to-day from many a, 
fair young cheek, and robbing the sparkling 
eyes of much of the lustre that once was 
their charm. Still more, it is sapping the 
vital strength to-day from the very bodies 
of many of its fettered young victims, and 
hurrying them on, thus shackled, to a 
yawning grave, while it stands by and scoffs 
with a fiendish laugh at another fool who is 
being borne on to an untimely end — and 
perhaps to a burial in hell. 

0 my dear young friends, be heedful of 
my warning. You boys are reckless. You 
girls are often unguarded. 

While speaking on this subject, I may as 
well tell you of a tragedy I once witnessed, 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


the scenes of which are burned into iny very 
brain. One drizzly night, when it seemed 
the very heavens were in sorrow, a hur- 
ried call came for a priest. As I went 
to the door I caught the trembling cry : 

0 Father ! come quickly, my sister is 
dying ! ” I hurried along the damp pavement 
as quickly as I could. Not a sound was in 
the night, and clouds of mists from the 
river passed through the air like ghosts in 
winding-sheets seeking a resting-place. As 
I ascended the stone steps I heard many 
voices blended in heart-breaking sobs. One 
shrill hysterical scream floated far out into 
the dead night : “ 0 Mollie, why did you do 
it ? ” By this time I was bending over the 
unfortunate form of a girl not more than 
eighteen years of age. She was lying 
on the floor. Her dress, as I thought, was 
one of unusual quality. A rose still 
quite fragrant, was nestled carelessly in 
her soft hair. Her eyes were wide-open, 
but they stared in an expressionless gaze. 
I placed a crucifix between her jeweled 
fingers. I began to anoint the chilled senses. 
When I touched her eyes, a shudder crept 
through every fibre of my frame. I spoke 
not a word, but finished my anointing. As 
the holy oil was placed on her blanched 
lips, I noticed that they were swollen and 
249 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


seared. ^^0 Father — will she live?’’ the 
agonized mother sought tearfully of me. I 
clinched my hands and teeth, I could not 
make the revelation. The girl was dead! 
The eldest of the sisters, now, in snatches of 
words, between broken sobs unfolded the 
mystery to me. O Mollie I why did you do 
it? ” came again the trembling lamentation. 

Why did you drink that poison ? ” The 
sobs of this girl, particularly, tore the cords of 
my heart. I could hold back my tears no 
longer. So I withdrew and turned for home 
unnerved and trembling. In the morning 
the unpitying world read the story with 
hearts of steel and passionless gaze. Mollie 
was a wayward girl. The bubbling wine, 
the whirl of white, the melody of laughter, 
the poisonous words of flattery that the 

boys ” had whispered wantonly into her 
soul, caused her fall. 

Sin is bitter. Shame is bitter. Remorse 
is hell. She had appealed to her betrayer 
with threats and tears. For weeks she had 
cloaked her shame. She received, like Judas 
of old, the despairing one, — the answer : 

What is that to me ? ” The demon of lust 
and the demon of despair shake hands, as a 
rule. When the wine flowed for the last 
time ; when in the dance-hall, the violinist 
played the strains of Home, sweet Home ” j 


DAN PIKE’S ADVENTURE. 


when Mollie saw her pleading to be saved 
from shame had fallen dead on an already 
dull conscience, she turned her fevered face 
out to the wall of darkness. The white 
casket rose in a confused vision before her. 
The ribaldry and lewdness that filled the 
hall sickened her. A moan surged to her 
lips. Once again in mockery the casket, 
now blackened, sailed before her wild gaze. 

For God’s sake, take me,” she cried and 
it harkened. It did. A few days afterward 
its stiff embrace closed round her quiet 
form. 

Darkness ! Drink ! Degradation ! De- 
spair ! Death ! Damnation ! 



261 


TTbe Urtumpb of lecclesfe* 


THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

Once upon a time, at dead of night, when 
the moon was a mere child, and had no 
sense, I sat on an old log that lay along the 
road-side, and looked up at the heavens, 
watching the planets play “ tag.” You, young 
friends, will never behold this phenomenon, 
because Jupiter has since put forth a law 
forbidding any more such rude play amongst 
the planets. ’Tis wise ! 

Well, anyhow, on the night of which I 
speak the poor moon seemed very lonesome. 
He looked down at me, with a wry face, and 
beckoned to me, to come and have a chat 
with him. I guess his daddy had scolded 
him. I nodded, that I would be charmed 
to go. At that instant, a whirlwind, that 
had been lurking about the rocks, just like a 
cabman, lifted me from my perch, and up, 
up, I darted. 0 mirth ! 

With a glad hand, young moon welcomed 
me. He extended to me his lower horn, 
and bade me suavely, have a seat.” This, 
252 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


I did, fearing a little, though, that I should 
lose my balance. I pressed my arm around his 
neck. At this, the young son of night, 
seemed not abashed. 

0, I have so much to tell you, I don’t 
know where to begin,” — he sighed. Why 
not begin at the beginning ? ” I remarked 
demurely. ‘‘ 0, of course, so stupid of me.” 
he grunted. Do you know,” he went on, 
but here he gave a twitch. As we both 
looked about, we met in gaze the sweet 
face of a young Prince, who softly had 
come by and seated himself beside me. 

Whence came you, comely chum ? ” I 
queried blandly. ‘‘ Ah ! little croak,” he 
made answer. I hail from a land, the lo- 
cation of which you know not of, for it is 
not on the list of countries. My fair land 
bears the name ^ Mummy-gob.’ Pretty, 
isn’t it ? ” he asked. Quite so,” said I. In 
what direction, does your land lay from 
here ? East or west ? ” Neither,” he made 
answer. It is due upward from here — 
seven thousand leagues.” 0, sakes me ! ” 
I gasped confusedly. 

Now,” the young Prince went on — in a 
salesman’s tone. “I want to tell you a 
story, a thrilling tale.” O Prince, I should 
be delighted to harken to your tale,” said I 
nicely, if the moon will permit.” Sure,” 
253 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


replied the moon, making himself really 
agreeable, as good moons should do. W ell,” 
he began softly, so as not to disturb Venus, 
who was reclining, I am a spirit, a purely 
ethereal being. I have no body, though I 
appear to have. My body, I left behind 
me as it was slain, and then cut to bits. On 
account of my valor, the King, under 
whose standard I fought, sent my spirit on 
a flight to ^ Mummy-gob-land,’ the home 
of the elect, and bade me stay there, and 
sip its delightful fountains, and harken to the 
soul-soothing melody. He did not curtail my 
liberty in the least, for ye know I oftentimes 
take a stroll of three thousand miles on a 
pleasant morning, for I speed with the 
rapidity of light through the air. I need no 
body. As I looked down on the lone moon 
to night, and saw you two chatting, I be- 
thought myself to come to you, and tell 
you of my wonderful career.” Marvellous,” 
said I, trying to talk big. 

^^Well,” the spirit Prince went on, grip- 
ping again the weave of his story, I was 
born on the dingy planet, ‘ Zizzilami.’ 
For fully four thousand years, no gleam of 
light brightened the sky and no song of 
birds gladdened its woodlands. Sadness and 
wailing were the chief pastime of its 
grovelling people.” ^^How piteous!” said 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


I with the right inflection. Yet, we knew 
by instinct, that the time would come when 
our globe would enjoy the warmth and peace 
that rendered so many of its sister-planets 
happy. 

At last the King of Mummy-gob, whose 
heart was tender, said to himself one fine 
day, ^ I will send mine own son to the dismal 
land, and see if he by his magic can dispel 
the gloom that depresses the souls of 
the people.’ 

How good of him ! ” said the moon. 

Well, the son went, not with blare of 
trumpet, and a dazzling equipage, but 
poorly clad, lowly. Thinking perchance 
that the feelings of the poverty-scourged 
people would thus be not wounded. 
What think you they did, heathens that they 
were ? They took the Prince and murdered 
him, after he had spent nearly three years 
in doing them kindly services. One very 
notable deed of goodness was this : — He 
sent to the ethereal court for his ^ Beloved 
Ecclesie ’ a chaste and comely dame to 
come, and aid him in scattering peace and 
blessedness through the hills and the plains. 
She came, wrapped in light and melody fair 
as the dawn. Her garments were as of 
snow, her tresses beset with diamonds,” 

How lovely ! ” I sighed. 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Now, the surprising part of it all/’ the 
Prince went on, was, — that after the 
^ Royal One ’ was put to death, Ecclesie still 
tarried in Zizzilami, nor bore any hatred 
to the murderers of her spouse. She, all 
radiant and fair, began one day to sing a 
psalm soft and low. The tones she voiced 
really charm the souls of thousands aged 
ones and tots alike. To each of these, she 
gave a robe of dazzling white, and they, 
taking up her songs and psalms, swelled 
them into a chorus — mighty, yet melodious, 
so that they were heard in lands afar. At 
length, the wicked kings of dismal Zizzilami, 
put their heads together, and said they : 
‘ W e must at all hazards, destroy the comely 
Ecclesie and her followers.’ So — the 
trumpets sounded, knights and swordsmen 
were panoplied. Herds of wild beasts were 
let loose, to run and roar through the land. 
The harsh voices of all were blended in one 
battle cry. ‘Death to Ecclesie and her 
children ! ’ ” “ How cruel of them ! ” we said. 
“ W ait 1 ” interposed the princely spirit. 

“ Did Ecclesie tremble and cry : ‘We 
bend to you bidding 0 kingly cohorts?’ 
No ! no ! She began to call again softly, 
— ^low, like the murmuring of a brook, 
‘Follow me, sons and daughters, and the 
Lord ^h^ll wipe away all tears from your 

m 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


eyes.’ Onward dashed the swordsmen, — - 
with their pointed halberds, piercing the 
breasts of the inoffensive ones, who met 
death with calm souls, nor raised a hand to 
strike back. Ecclesie, now — strange to tell 
— began her psalmody again. More fiercely 
than ever, the destroying hordes swept 
on. The plains and mountain-sides were 
reddened with blood. 

At last, the Valley of Jossalami opened 
its arms to the terrible spectacle, ‘ Aha ! ’ 
cried all the kings, as the day was closing. 
‘ Ecclesie is falling. Her children are dying 
— Her power is broken at last.’ So they 
ceased warfare for the night, and rested.” 
(Here, the moon and I breathed a sigh of re- 
lief.) When the morning threw its bright- 
ness over the heavens, the army rose up 
again. ^ Ye singing Gods ! ’ — the cry 
went the round. ^ Behold Ecclesie ! ’ Be- 
hold her children ! Blood-drops, have given 
birth to new souls. They are myriad as the 
stars,’ Mark the burden of the chant, ^ Exul- 
tate ! ’ What meaneth it ? But no sooth- 
sayer could tell. 

Again, like a mighty whirlwind the slay- 
ing battalion swung forward. The infuriated 
lions, now, maddened by the thirst for blood, 
sprang forward into the ranks of the white- 
clad children of Ecclesie. Day dawned 
17 257 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and died ; night moved gloomily around 
the world *, the javelins and halberds pierced 
the hearts of thousands of innocent ones. 
Still, high above the din and roar, was heard 
the one sweet note ^ Exultate ! ’ 

The hour came, at last, when the fiendish 
fighters grew fatigued of the sight of car- 
nage. Their arms fell helpless to their sides. 
Their mouths gaped, in amazement. The 
beasts — one and all — slunk into their caves. 
Millions of the white-robed children still 
moved through the valley — nor changed a 
note of their chant. The kings, now dis- 
mayed, jumped up and down, tore their 
beards, and dug their heels into the ground, 
howling: ‘We cannot, alas! stamp out 
Ecclesie, and her children.’ The whole 
legion took up the cry of despair, which 
moaned through the valley, then died with 
the darkness. 

“ The glorious sun of the morrow shone 
into the faces of the children of Ecclesie, 
and their song lifted with the larks. A 
torrent of sweetest chant swung round the 
globe just here, as the heavenly cohort began 
to move from hamlet to hamlet and country 
to country, leaving gladness in its train — 
even as the vessel leaves the glistening 
foam in its wake. ‘ The Daughters of 
Heaven/ with consecrated hands, dried the 
258 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


mourners’ tears, soothed aching hearts, and 
even in some cases, raised the dead to life. 
Verily the hearts of the people now changed. 
Her old venomous haters soon scrambled up 
the hills and strained their eyes for the 
coming of the good Princess. In fact, her 
mission completely changed the face of old 
Zizzilami, just as nowadays, they say, some 
silly women have their faces altered by 
the dermatologist. Men’s hearts gladdened 
at her teaching. Weak and strong, rich 
and poor lived as one family under her gentle 
rule. Pigmy kings with hollow heads, now 
and then tried to patch up an army to stop 
the on-march of Ecclesie, and her gentle 
army, but these wooden soldiers fell to earth 
at her gaze, just as the toy blocks are scat- 
tered over the nursery floor by the little fist 
of baby. Other enemies who had harkened 
to the whispering of Jamgad the bad man, 
threw mud on the trail of the heavenly 
Daughter, but it soon dried, fell to earth 
again, leaving no stain.” 0 what nasty 
pigmy kings ! ” I said. They Avere indeed,” 
said the drowsy moon. The Prince smiled 
faintly and said: Don’t worry, friendly 

brothers. When kings of all kinds, pigmy 
and great, and mud-throwers great and small, 
have died or withered away, as the worm 
that is trod upon, Ecclesie — Princess of 
259 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Zizzilami, will rule on to the end.” 
hope she will/’ said I. Me too/’ chimed in 
my chum. “ 0, look ! ” gasped the young 
moon, opening his eye on the port side, 
Daylight is coming over the yonder hills. 
I must never be seen in his presence accord- 
ing to the mandate of Bung — who is very 
strict.” 

Come, you chatterbox, — get off my 
chin,” said he to the Prince from Jossalami, 
but lo ! the Prince had gone. My ! how 
rapidly morning came galloping on the road 
in a glistening chariot. He moved like the 
wind. Sooner than you could think he was 
pausing before Mr. Moon with a taunting 
smile playing on his face. Aha ! Mr. 
Moon, I caught you napping this time,” 
he said. Mr. Moon, grew pale and slunk 
away. I caught hold of a sunbeam just 
passing below me, and slid home, Good 
slide ! That’s the first and last time I’ll 
stay out all night, moon or no moon. 

What horrid old villains those kings 
were ! Mercy ! What motive could they have 
had, in putting to the sword so many of the 
white-robed children of Ecclesie? Surely, 
she came to their planet to proffer them 
naught hut kindness. Why, then, did 
they not bend their necks to her gentle 
sway? Ah I know! The villainous old 

m 


THE TRIUMPH OE ECCLESIE. 


rascals could see that they themselves would 
have to harken to her soul-stirring psalms, 
and change their naughty lives, hence the 
hatred they conceived for the Heavenly 
Princess. Every good story must bear some 
moral, otherwise it is no story, but a silly 
tale. Now, I’ll never be accused of telling 
silly tales, so — what does my story mean ? 
It is but a faint allegory of what the 
Catholic Church is, and what she has done for 
the spiritual and material advancement of 
manhood. I termed her the Princess be- 
cause she is the bride, so to speak, of Christ, 
her heavenly Spouse. You recall how the 
story tells of the murder of the gentle Prince. 
This typifies Our Divine Lord, who was 
put to death by His enemies. After Him, 
then, he left His mission of saving souls 
to the Royal Princess — the Catholic Church. 

You young folks are amongst those 
white-robed children, whom I pictured as 
following Ecclesie through valley and dell. 
The hostile legions, and the hateful kings who 
rose up against the fair Princess, tell us of 
the rulers of the world who, in the course of 
ages, swept their armies against her. But, 
ah, they failed to remember that they strove 
not against a merely human power, but 
against a power that had, as a sustaining 
principle, the might of God Himself, 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


When the last warrior had fallen dead in 
the Valley of Jossalami, Ecclesie still moved 
peacefully on, singing a chant of triumph. 
The Catholic Church to-day is breathing over 
the sad tombs of her persecutors the same 
sweet psalm as of old, Exultate ! ” and until 
the world is rolled away from the sight of 
God she will move like a vision through the 
land, gladdening the souls of the poor and the 
lowly with her joy-giving chant. 

Think of it, and rejoice. You are amongst 
the white-robed children of the Heavenly Prin- 
cess, and even at this hour are you fighting 
under her standard. My heart goes out to 
you, as I stand by, and look down on the 
plain, and see what a glorious fight you are 
making to throw aside the allurements that 
wily enemies of the good Ecclesie are putting 
forth, to ensnare your little feet, and to 
wrench your little hands away from those 
holy tresses to which you have clung from 
babyhood. 

I call you followers of the Heavenly Prin- 
cess, and so you are. Unlike your little 
brothers and sisters of ages gone-by, you 
have not got to face the swords of persecu- 
tion. You have to face the wilier enemy 
forsooth. The modern sowers of cockle, 
come to you with bland words, and 
scented tresses to beguile you away from 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


that good Princess who nurtured you, when 
your eyes first opened upon this world, and 
who has strengthened you since, time and 
again, with the Bread of Angels,” I have 
been a boy, and I know pretty well how 
these modern Pharisees move amongst the 
poor and ignorant ” slipping into their 
little hands here and there pamphlets which 
they please to term tracts, or innocent read- 
ing, whereas they are often coated pills of 
poison — poison which in some rare cases 
throws into the young brain a strange 
deliirum, leading the poor little victim to turn 
and walk no more with the Princess, whom he 
once loved so fondly. 

Do I think you little toilers will turn from 
the Spiritual Mother who has nourished you 
so long ? Do I think you will run after the 
chaff which the wicked kings hold out to 
you ? No, banish the thought ; you are loyal 
little darlings every one — and neither fear, 
nor the sweet-glossed tongues of the modern 
Sadducees, nor any of their enticements, like 
pink lemonade, will ever lead you away from 
her who opened to your little minds, years 
ago, the sweet story of Jesus, and poured 
into your souls on Communion Day a thrill of 
joy sweeter than which you will never taste 
again. 0, little friends, your Faith should 
be to you the sweetest possession of your 
263 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILfiRS. 


hearts, and it would break my heart if I 
should hear of any one of you defaulting 
from the ranks or laying aside that little 
cross which the Princess placed on your 
little shoulders in the years of your blossom- 
ing. Let me tell you why you should love 
your Holy Faith. 

When you were tots, just ushered into 
life, you had a stain on your httle souls that 
estranged you from the kingdom of Heaven. 
Loving hands bore you to the royal house of 
the Princess. With her heavenly power she 
brushed away the stain. Then you smiled 
for the first time, because he only can smile 
who has tasted of grace. A few years swept 
by and you came again, with the instinct of a 
true child, and knelt by her side, fondled 
with the folds of her white robe. You spoke 
not. There was a celestial quiet spread about 
you. Then a tear came, the first sacred tear of 
sadness for sin. The good Princess lowered 
her head, caught the burden of your sigh, 
then sent you away rejoicing as she whispered 
in your ear the self-same strain that has 
gladdened the hearts of young folks for 
ages, Go in peace.” 

You saw the Princess again, and you loved 
her best, when she came to you at your crv 
of pain, as you lay on your couch almost 
abandoned. She stood by, and in the person 
264 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


of her priest soothed your aching limbs and 
wearied eyes, with cooling balm. And you 
whispered, as she strode softly away, “ Yes — 
I love her because of her tenderness to me. 
She came again — you recall the time — it was 
in the still moments of night, when you 
knelt by the bedside of your mother and 
saw death lead her, slowly and softly, into 
the shadows of the V alley of Rest. But ah ! 
— I recall — my sorrow was far from despair. 
I have seen other sons and daughters stand 
by a dpng mother, and they shrieked with 
bitter sorrow. Your tears fell, — but gently. 
— by ? Because our good Princess — 
Holy Faith — folded you to her throbbing 
bosom, and whispered, Weep not, my child ; 
the angels are stealing your loved one away.” 

When at times you felt faint from toiling 
— while on your way home — she smiling- 
ly tempted your aching little feet into the 
house of her Spouse, and there, in prayer, 
you grew strongly happy, and went home 
with a blessing shining in your little eyes. 

Why need I speak further, young toiling 
friends ? — the Fair Princess has never done 
you any but deeds of mercy and gentleness. 
Now, I say, you are out in the world, 
exposed to the covert snares of unbelief — 
You hear the fair name of your Faith 
reviled. You hear her ceremonies mocked, 
265 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


her purest motives distorted. What will 
you do in the face of all this, my brave 
young knights and daughters ? What 
would you sturdy boys do, if a wretch 
dared insult your mother’s fair name? I 
tremble to state it. And will you be less 
loyal to the Heavenly Princess, who loves 
you even as a mother ? No, no. You boys 
can use your little fists, and use them well. 
But what are the girls to do ? 0, tell their 

brothers, I suppose. Really, I would be 
better pleased if you boys and girls could 
floor ” your adversaries by force of good 
clear arguing than by the latest style of 
upper-cut.” Therefore you little Trojans, 
strive to learn more about your holy Faith 
each day. Be able to give an intelligent 
answer whenever your young non-Catholic 
friends ask you anything about your 
Church. There are many good books near 
at hand nowadays, that will furnish your 
little noddles ” with answers, to meet any 
question the young heathens ” can throw 
at you. Two of these I mention particular- 
ly. One is Faith of Our Fathers” by 
Cardinal Gibbons. This you can get for a 
few cents in any Catholic book-store. The 
second is called The Question-Box,” 
written by Father Lentz. These little 
works, if carefully read, will make you young 
266 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


theologians, able to stand up and defend 
the honor of the good Princess against those 
young rascals who tease you so frequently 
into scrapping.’’ 

Now, boys and girls, I do not want you 
to be like the rabble that hang on the voice 
of the campaign orator, and cheer his words 
to-night, only on the morrow to vote against 
the ticket he has been tensing every nerve to 
elect. No ! You therefore must not throw 
your hats in the air at what I have said 
about your Faith, only to walk away, when 
my talk is done, and fail to do the things I 
have been preaching to have you do. How 
will you prove yourselves loyal young fol- 
lowers of the Princess ? Simply, by doing 
your duty as young Catholics should. By 
attending Mass on Sundays. By going to 
the sacraments every month. By showing a 
deep reverence for your priesthood, and by 
striving to equip yourselves to defend the 
honor of your Spiritual Mother against the 
slurs of her enemies. 

On the shores of a northern sea, many 
centuries ago, a king sought a place on 
which to build his castle. He strolled for 
many days and nights along the shore, 
without being able to choose one. At last, 
as he moved along, a spirit came, and touch- 
ing his brow, said softly, Pause here, 0 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Sire, and build thy castle, even on yonder 
cliff.’' The king did the bidding of the 
friendly spirit. Soon a majestic edifice 
lifted its form to look across the sea. 

It seems that the country round about 
had ever heretofore been under the sway of 
tlie Storm-fiend, who by his mighty sweep 
hurried all things to destruction. 

One night, when it seemed that the very 
stars feared to take their wonted places in 
the firmament, the Storm-fiend unfettered 
his fiercest whirlwind, which rushed at the 
castle, shrieking dismally the while. But 
the castle moved not a jot or tittle. The 
fiend was maddened by the resistance to his 
mighty power, so he called from their caves 
all the hurricanes and thunderbolts, and 
dashed them against the castle walls, but the 
stately mansion stood calm as before. 

This, young friends, is a type of the 
Catholic Church. The Heavenly King has 
built it upon a rock, even as He said to 
Peter : Thou art Peter, and upon this 

rock I will build my Church ; and the gates 
of Hell shall not prevail against it.” This is 
enougli. Christ pledges that no power shall 
overcome His Church, and that He will be 
with it all days even unto the end of the 
world.” 

You, young Catholic boys and girls, are 

m 


THE TRIUMPH OF ECCLESIE. 


now sitting safely in the white-sailed bark, 
that lands its passengers at the Fountain 
of refreshment, light, and peace.” Don’t 
be foolish enough to step out of that pretty 
little craft, when some foxy little fish comes 
near the surface, wiggling his little silvery 
sides — just to tempt you. Once leave the 
good old back of Peter, and you will sink 
lower and lower amongst the meshes, and 
seaweed, and jelly-fish, of unending doubt 
and perplexity. Do you grasp my hint? 


269 


XTbc iKIlac of tbe Hnts. 

CATHOLIC SOCIETIES. 

What happy, happy days those were, 
when all was peace throughout the world, 
when beasts had no burdens to bear, when 
there was no winter, when oats and hay and 
barley grew up ready to eat, just like our 
modern breakfast foods, when geese had 
five different coats of feathers to show off, 
and lions five separate skins for the different 
social functions. 

This happy condition of affairs obtained 
just after the world was created, so I learn. 
It was just at this period, I think, that Jubal 
began to tease music from the lute, and 
Tubal-Cain began to fashion ornaments of 
brass. I can state positively, that peace 
ruled over the earth in those decades, for it 
was a common thing to see a lamb and a 
tiger go skipping off gaily to an evening 
dance, hand in hand. And the cat and the 
mouse were to be seen on any summer after- 
noon, sitting side by side, down by the 
lagoon, and chatting pleasantly. Then, so 
we hear, boas and varicolored serpents were 
270 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


used as scarfs, for the dainty necks of 
maidens, as jewelry is now. 

To clinch my thesis I want to state, that 
even the midget ant, was wont to tog himself 
in silk coat, and high hat, and come, in his 
equipage, to the soirees held in difPerent 
bowers of Eden-land. 0 that we had lived 
in those unruffled times ! But, away with 
foolish yearning ! 

I hear, that young social swells of our 
day, and coy debutantes, arrogate to them- 
selves the distinction of being the inventors 
of the elite pastime known as Pink teas,” 
those dainty little tete-a-tetes ” that bring 
together in such pretty fashion in our day, 
so many aspirants to social royalty. Well, 
let me tell you, sotto voce ” (and I know), 
that this same flaunted social rite was in 
vogue even in those merry days I speak of. 

It may, forsooth, make you smile, a chilly 
smile, but you must know, that there were 
then many swell kermesses,” held on the 
green which would make our modern quad- 
rilles look like frozen figs. Isn’t it strange, 
too, that the hankering after exciting con- 
tests held sway over the minds of all then, 
even as they do now ? ’Tis so, however. 

Well, I learn, that then, the ‘^Terpsi- 
chorean ” art was the most cultivated of all. 
To be plain, dancing was all the rage. The 
271 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


lad or the lassie who could swirl around the 
most gracefully, was sure to become the 
social pet. The mammal family, it was, 
who started the tongues a wagging. Mrs. 
Icthyosaurus asked Mrs. Elephanta, if she 
would allow the use of her greensward for 
a prize waltz, also if she would accompany 
her through the swell part of the city to 
enlist names as contestants from the several 
representative families. Oh, I will be 
charmed to do so,” quoth Mrs. Elephanta. 

Well, to cut out useless narrative and 
unintelligible feminine terminology, the 
evening of the prize waltz came. The air 
was lavishly ladened with the breath of 
heliotropes. Countless fire-flies flitted 
through the air, like so many animated 
diamonds. The music, they say, was of a 
high order. I will not essay to describe the 
gowns of the ladies, let your imaginations 
paint this picture for you. At last, the vast 
social throng swept into the hall, just two 
hours late, as happens in all these silly affairs 
held even in our day. 

Jocko the chimpanzee — he of symmetrical 
face, having previously been accorded the 
honor of Master of Ceremonies, sat up on his 
scarlet rostrum, and called the names of the 
contestants in order. I forgot to mention, that 
this unique affair differed from our modern 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


ones in this, that the deciding of grace and 
excellence of movement, was left entirely to 
our friend on the perch — Jocko. Well, 
your sides would have ached, I know, had 
you seen the twists that some of the silly 
ones went through in an endeavor to he 
graceful and fetching. The big ones, of 
course, took the floor first, and so the order 
was gradated according to size. It was just 
drawing into midnight, when the orchestra 
struck up an allegro staccato air, one just 
suited to the step of a midget. 

The tiny ant pair, now sailed on £o the 
floor as modestly as could be. At a glance, 
it could be seen, that these last little mites 
were sweeping the convention into favor. 
Their step was noiseless, their sways really 
cute. In fact, they did so well and stirred 
up so much enthusiasm, that Jocko did not 
wait for the finale, but shouted out his de- 
cision to the audience. Hear ye,’’ he 
cried. ‘‘ Our royal little cousin’s, the ants, I 
hold to be the winners of the diamond 
crown.” O mercy ! what consternation 
this decision caused. The howling of the 
jackals, the screech of the owl, the roar and 
rumble and bellows of the elephants and 
the dynosauri would wrinkle your brow. 
What good did this noise do ? None whatever. 
Umpires don’t fear noise. 

1 8 273 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


The plucky little ants now put on their 
dainty wraps, and ambled home through the 
‘^cold gray dawn.’’ In the dark hours, 
however, venom thrives best, and so, the de- 
feated ones plotted, and planned, and swore 
vengeance on the ant family and on Jocko. 
On the morrow, the lowering clouds of dan- 
ger were apparent to the little mites. As 
they walked along the realto, they were met 
by taunts and sneers from their defeated 
brethren. Well, this sort of thing went on 
for some days. One evening a tiny miller, a 
friend, fluttered over to Antville and told the 
little innocent creatures of the plan that 
was on foot to put them all to death. The 
warning was not a moment to soon, for even 
then the cowardly old animals were drawn 
up on the field fully armed and venom was 
in their features. The wily little ants, 
however, were ready for the fray. Minima, 
their queen, donned her silken robe, strode 
to the head of the legion, and cried. Follow 
me ! ” and so for the first time in history, the 
real power of the ant was made manifest. 
They swarmed over the hill in a phalanx a 
a mile wide. They must have numbered in 
the trillions. 

Their ponderous enemies were taken un- 
awares, they startled yet they did not retreat. 
The hardy little soldiers advanced steadily 
274 


THE WAR OP THE ANTS. 


in orderly battalion, not uttering so much as 
a sound. Quite different the enemy. They 
roared and bellowed and fumed, confident 
that they could swamp their pigmy op- 
ponents. Nay, not so ! On, they rushed. 
The forces clashed, and great was the clash 
thereof. Many of the sturdy little brave 
men fell, it is true, but their brothers surged 
on like the waves that roll upon the shore. 
They came now into closer conflict with 
their mammal opponents. They crawled by 
the thousands up the great limbs of the 
elephants, who were swinging their trunks 
wildly. Into their caves of ears, the ants 
hurried ; into their eyes, too, and down their 
throats by the millions. In this method they 
attacked all the members of the animal 
cohort, until thousands of giant forms lay 
writhing, choking on the plain. Many big 
dynosauri turned to beat a hasty retreat, but 
they stumbled, because the pesky little ants 
had crept into their eyes and blinded them. 

The roar of battle, at last, lulled, and now 
a strange stillness came like a pall over the 
plain of carnage. Over the heaps of pros- 
trate forms, could be seen hastening a figure 
of some excited envoy from the animal army. 
As he came into view, it proved to be none 
other than Jocko the genial referee. O 
mighty mites, he gasped, while his teeth 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


chattered with dread. My brothers have 
sent me with a flag of truce. Suspend battle 
until we can come to some agreement.” As 
you will,” said Minima with due dignity. 
So the ant cohorts ceased their rushing, 
choking, blinding process of warfare. 

On the morrow, at high noon, in the Hall 
of Doves, the leaders of the warring factions, 
come face to face. Of course they began 
proceedings by much strutting and pom- 
pous speech — the half of which they didn’t 
mean. The little ant envoys were wily, not 
one of them spoke a word at first. Then 
old Leo Lion who had lost one eye, pulled 
his speech to a close. Minima simply re- 
joined meekly, Sir ! the carnage is distaste- 
ful to me and to my people. We provoked 
not this battle. We stood only on the de- 
fensive. You fain would have annihilated 
us, but we proved to you, that because you 
are ponderous and brutal, you cannot disre- 
gard the rights of the smaller inhabitants of 
this kingdom. You, now, craven cowards, 
want peace ; you may have it. But mind 
you, your peace shall be according to the 
conditions that I shall exact.” Here old 
Lion twitched as though a pin had been 
stuck into him, but he held his peace. You 
shall rebuild the huts of my beloved ones,” 
Minima went on, that you have levelled by 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


your ponderous feet. You shall indemnify 
the widows and orphans, made by the war. 
You shall remove the stenchy carcasses of 
your fallen brothers from the plain, and 
lastly — you shall pledge to leave this section 
of the country to us unmolested.’’ J ust here, 
old warrior Lion hung his head and muttered. 
My mighty little foe, all shall be as you 
suggest.” “ Then, sir, sign this document,” 
said Minima commandingly as she held out 
a sheet of parchment no bigger than the 
head of a pin. At this the old tartar gene- 
ral could not suppress a smile. “ 0, valiant 
little mite,” he said, I can scarcely see your 
official paper with my one eye. Y ou have my 
word. No good lion was ever a liar.” Fare- 

well, then,” said Minima in a right round 
tone. Farewell,” the defeated lion made 
answer as he crawled painfully out to look 
again on the plain of disaster. 

That night another grand ball was held 
in the palace of Queen Minima, and for two 
thousand years afterwards no big bully of 
an animal dare pass an ant without show- 
ing deference. Poor little ants ! I shall 
always be careful not to step on one of their 
tiny homes, as I pass along the road. Like 
little military attaches, let us uow analyze 
this wonderful achievement on the part of the 
tiny ants. What was it that caused their big 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


lumbersome enemies to capitulate so soon ? 
It was the fact that the little tots were 
moulded into a splendid unified body. This 
little army moved like a machine, and so, it 
mowed down all who dared stand in the way. 
Even the husky elephant was laid low, and 
and the proud lion brought to his knees be- 
fore the tiny speck of an insect he fain would 
have crushed. Herein is a splendid lesson 
for you young toilers — you blossoming sons 
and daughters of Mother Church. It is an 
old adage, that in union there is power. 
This particularly is true in regard to societies 
at the present time. Our country is essenti- 
ally one of societies. You young folks mix- 
ing with the world, know, as well as I, what 
wonders can be wrought by a compact social 
body. Look at your labor organizations to- 
day — see what a powerful body they have be- 
come. So much so, that at the word of one 
man they can almost paralyze the trade of the 
land. 

The Catholic Church, who has ordered the 
world and gladdened the faces of men by 
her light of civilization, is responsible for the 
plan of organizing men and women into so- 
cieties. What is she herself, but a society ? 
The world at large, loath as it is to do so, 
is bound to stand and marvel at her wonder- 
ful organism. The head speaks, and the 
278 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


members, in the furthermost parts of the 
globe, spring into action with dutiful re- 
sponse. 

Perhaps, my little folks, you rate this 

dry talk,^^ and feel not inclined to go on. 
Very well, let me liven matters up a little. 
As I write now, I look out of my window. 
I see the snow in the streets piled many feet 
high. I see men lashing their horses, to 
urge them though the heaps of drift that 
almost clog the wheels. I see a line of 
trolley-cars blocked — standing in a string 
almost a mile long. Trains try feebly to run, 
but schedule time is abandoned. Traffic and 
commerce, are at the mercy of what? A 
tiny snowflake. Of one ? No, but of many 
ones, moulded together in a compact mass. 
What a lesson for you young folks ! Each 
one of your dear little selves may be of slight 
influence, taken singly, but throw yourselves, 
like snowflakes, into the lap of Holy Mother 
Faith, and let her fashion you as she will — 
then see what a power you will become. 

In this country, at the present time, an 
able Bishop realizing the necessity of weld- 
ing young hearts together, for defense of 
Catholic principles, lias formed an alliance 
amongst all the societies of the Church. 
Now, those without the fold, are awakening 
to the fact, that a mighty phalanx has risen 
279 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


out of the ground, one which must be harken- 
ed to — one which cannot be trifled with, else 
would it sweep through the land like a forest- 
fire, and lay low all those who would stand 
wrongfully in the path of its progress. 

Holy Mother Church, having ever abiding 
with her the light of the Holy Spirit, knows 
what is best for your good. When you 
were babies on her bosom, a few years ago — 
that is, when you were school children — you 
were all like little lambs taken into some 
sheepfold, or society. Some were sons of 
St. Aloysius. Others were little daughters 
of Mary Immaculate. When you stepped 
from under the gentle sway of your teachers 
and became young men and young women, 
you thought you had no further need of 
societies, when in truth you needed them 
most. 

Are there then any societies to which a 
working boy or a working girl, could belong ? 
Certainly there are. For you both, in most 
large parishes, there is the “ Club ” for the 
youngsters who toil. The society which is 
placed under the care of the Child Jesus, 
who toiled himself by the side of Joseph 
in the humble shop at Nazareth. In our 
parish, let me tell you, we have a most flour- 
ishing society of this character. On two or 
three evenings of the week, the boys and 


THE WAR 0 '^ THE ANTS. 


girls flock into the hall like little sheep 
seeking shelter for the night. Their shouts 
and laughter and pranks as they burst 
through our side-gate, fill our hearts with 
joy. When they get quieted in the hall, a 
little prayer is said, and then the director 
gives them a short ^^talk.” One to which 
they ever listen as though their souls were 
thirsting for more knowledge of the heavenly 
truths. Then, the merry chatter begins. 
Then the good old piano that has meekly 
stood a thumping for many years, is pulled 
out of its hiding in the dark corner, half 
awake, and its keys are thumped again 
mercilessly, by blackened little fingers, 
until the strains of the most delicious rag- 
time” fill the air. All the while the lads 
and lassies move around the floor in the 
waltz or two-step, with as much grace, as 
the members of the Social Set ” and with 
much more peace and happiness in their 
young souls. 

In the same society, there is an obligation 
to receive Holy Communion, once a month. 
0, how touching a sight it is to see these 
buxom youths, the hope of the coming age, 
for Church and for country, kneeling with 
happy faces before the Communion rail, 
waiting for the moment to come, when He, 
the Friend of the little toiler, shall steal into 
281 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


their chastened little hearts, and reign 
there. 

You, young workers ! by joining the 
societies of the Church, make many friends 
for yourselves. You no longer walk alone 
through the cold world. You have a loyal 
brother or sister to lean upon. Then, too, 
when sickness comes, you have the consola- 
tion of knowing that each evening some glad 
little face will be sure to come peeping into 
your room as it sings out, Hello, Chimmy ! 
how are yo’ makin it go ? ” and you will be 
sure to get all the latest news. And then if 
you should not grow better, if the Master 
should call you home, your sleeping little form 
will be borne on the shoulders of your young 
brothers and sisters, to your final earthly 
bed. Nor will they hurry away, but rather 
tarry awhile, as they shed sacred tears over 
you, and see to it that your grave shall be kept 
green. Good young friends, do, then, join 
some society of the Church. You young 
girls will be safeguarded by your sisters 
against pitfalls, and you boys will be sus- 
tained and kept from wandering into dan- 
gerous places by your little brothers. When 
you have friends tried and true, beside you, 
what need you fear ? 

Listen to my talk a moment longer, little 
friends. I have a word to say in the nature 
282 


THE WAE OF THE ANTS. 


of a warning. There are some societies in 
the land to-day that are professedly anti- 
Catholic, whose concomitant purpose is to 
steal from the loyal young Catholic heart all 
reverence and filial love for the faith of 
Christ. Against these enemies of your souls, 
you can easily be wary as the mariner can of 
the rocks, for they stalk about without guise ; 
nor do they try to hide the feeling of bitter- 
ness that lurks in their souls against every- 
thing Catholic. This character of enemy, 
however, is in the minority. In fact they are 
so small in size and in principle, that you 
have little to fear from them. 

But I would lay stress upon another class 
of enemies of your faith. Those, namely, 
who approach you with the glad hand ” 
and the studied smile. Those who will prate 
to you by the hour about the goodness, and 
innocence, and liberality of their society, and 
of their genuine sympathy with your hard 
lot ’’ in life. Take my word for it. Not every 
one who smiles at you, and says bland words, 
or offers you little gifts, is your friend. 
What do I mean ? Simply this : — In our 
cities to-day, there are societies, non-sectarian 
so called, whose founders and whose members 
have but one aim. This is : — To lead young 
folks like you into their fold, and to garb 
you as one of theirs ; to make you unlearn 
283 


SHORT TALKS TO YOtTNO TOILERS. 


the lessons of faith you imbibed at mother’s 
knee ; in a word, to make you little deserters 
from the standard of Christ. Many there 
are to-day, sweet of voice and elegant of 
manner, who will approach you with seeming 
sincerity, with the specious appearance of 
being your friends, and interested in your 
welfare, whose sole motive in thus acting, is 
to coax you from the tresses of your loving 
Mother, Holy Faith, to which you have clung 
from boyhood. They whisper into your 
wavering hearts words that seem innocent 
enough, but which, in fact, are flavored with 
bigotry. They would give you books to 
read that seem on the surface simple tale- 
books, but which are tainted on every page 
with germs that are intended to poison your 
minds against the Spiritual Mother who has 
nurtured you from childhood. Beware, little 
friends, beware ! The time is past, when the 
enemies of your faith and mine, would essay 
to drag you from your Catholic belief, or 
make you blot out from your memories the 
happy fantasies of Jesus and Mary, else, put 
you to martyrdom. But they employ a 
method which, I say, with tears in my eyes, 
seems just as effective in teasing little feet 
away from the daisied fields w^here Jesus 
keeps His tender flock. 

Think you, little friends, that this method 
284 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


of making proselytes — deserters from the 
Lord’s House — is a new-fangled idea? No, 
no. It was in vogue even at the time when 
Christ walked amongst His little followers. 
I am sure of it, for speaking to them one 
day he said, Beware, my little soldiers, of 
those who come to you, in the form of 
teachers, for inwardly they are ravening 
wolves.” 

The modern philanthropists may coax you 
into their temples with tinsel and song, but 
what can they proffer you in exchange for 
the pearl that they will pilfer from your 
souls, the pearl of truth ? Nothing, verily 
nothing. Therefore, my little toiling friends, 
be wise with heavenly wisdom. Within your 
Master’s house there is everything that your 
young hearts can yearn for. Above and 
beyond all, you have there the bread of truth, 
the source of all peace in Jesus in the Taber- 
nacle. Better far, years of hardship and 
poverty with the Master than a lifetime of 
feasting and song apart from His loving 
smiles. 

Therefore to be very plain, whenever you 
are approached by envoys of these societies 
that claim to be merely philanthropic or 
non-sectarian, get wise,” as the boy says. 
Say to yourselves : Here is one of those 
teachers of whom Our Lord spoke in the 
285 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


long ago. Externally they may be bland 
and persuasive, but in their souls they are 
false prophets or ravening wolves.” 
Therefore I will have naught to do with 
their enticings. Beware of the leaven of 
the Pharisees and Sadducees,” the Lord once 
said to His disciples, when they went in 
quest of bread. So say I to you, little 
toilers, to-day, as you toil for your daily 
bread, Beware of the modern Sadducee.” 
You don’t need any aid from any Chris- 
tian ” society whatsoever. You are wont to 
speak of your faith, as Holy Mother Church, 
and so in very deed she is. She is the re- 
pository of all piety, and wisdom, and power. 
She has the same tenderness of nature as 
the Lord Himself ever had when He said : 

If a child ask its mother for a fish, will 
she give it a scorpion ? Even then will I 
be more compassionate of heart than she.” 
If you tell me, that many of the Y. M. C. A. 
societies can give you very decided aid by 
joining their membership. Then I say, 
you, my little Trojans ” are something 
nobler than mere beggars. Let them keep 
their favors. Be independent. Earn your 
own livelihood by dint of your own brains 
and muscles. And you possess an abun- 
dance of both. — I will twist my little finger 
around the folds of the garment of Jesus* 

m 


THE WAR OF THE ANTS. 


I will walk close to Him. I will cling to 
His Society, all the days of my life. I will 
be a loyal child of His Holy Church, and as 
the hours of toil go by I will lift my voice 
in the holy song : 


The Lord ruleth me, and I shall want nothing. 

He hath set me in a place of pasture : 

He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment : 

He hath converted my soul : 

He hath led me, on the paths of justice, for His own 
name’s sake. 

For though I shall walk in the midst of the shadow 
of death. 

I will fear no evils, for thou art with me : 

Thy rod and thy staff, they have comforted me. 

Thou hast prepared a table before me, against them 
that afflict me. 

Thou hast anointed my head with oil ; 

And thy chalice which inebriateth me, how goodly it 
is ! 

And thy mercy will follow me, all the days of my 
life; 

And that I may dwell in the house of the Lord unto * 
the length of days. 


287 


Ibow IRibicft anb Slats saveb tbe Country* 


PRAYER. 

Just about the time when apples began to 
paint their cheeks red, and the peaches be- 
gin to get fuzzy,” King Jobo, who was 
then very old, began to grow very feeble. 
Anyway, the trouble that had been heaped 
upon his shoulders for past twenty years 
would whiten any one’s locks. At the 
period of which I write, the old Monarch 
was passing into his hundredth year. Still at 
that ripe age, he went out each day, at the 
head of his army, swinging his sword and 
crying. Forward, my men ! ” You can thus 
see how intrepid he was. Incessant wars, 
however, will weaken any dynasty, be it ever 
so colossal. King Jobo’s domain was skirted 
round with enemies whose skins were black 
and tough, and whose hearts were of stone. 
His own valiant men, called, The King’s 
Own,”were daily being lessened, till at 
last the old ruler woke up one morning to 
find that his once glorious battalion had 
been reduced to a mere handful of men, 
288 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


0, mercy ! What was Jobo the royal to do ? 
Well, like a human being of lesser rank he 
just sat on the side of the bed and began to 
ruminate. 

0, sacred flutes ! ” he muttered, what 
can I do to get an army, and save my king- 
dom ? ” So all kinds of loony thoughts be- 
gan to chase one another through his shaky 
brain. Until at last he clapped his knees, 
with his withered hands, and exclaimed, 
By the glittering girdle, I have it ! ’’ 
Now, he took his sacred ikon in his grasp 
(for he was an old pagan) and kissing it, 
said : 0 you exalted light-giver, aid me 

in my plans.” He now rang a large gong 
and summoned his Court of Counsellors.” 
This consisted of eleven old bearded men, 
who, notwithstanding their unkempt locks, 
looked really wise. They all salaamed as 
they came into the royal presence. 

0 ye royal wise ones,” Jobo began, 
I have called ye hither into my chamber, 
for the purpose of devising some means of 
recruiting an army to repel the barbarians 
who are threatening the safety of our exalted 
kingdom. The poor old fossils looked re- 
spectfully on the king, but said naught in 
reply. In fact they didn’t have a chance, 
for Jobo took up all the space. 

Picking up the thread of his discourse the 

19 289 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


old man continued : On the first leaf of 
the book ^ Aid in Emergencies/ I read, 
that on the island of Jebasite, which lurks 
in the waters of the Black Sea, some three 
thousand leagues from here, there lives a 
wonder-worker whose name is Sap,” Cute 
name,” muttered one of the old chaps, with a 
wink. ‘‘1 learn that his good advice has 
saved many tottering kingdoms from falling. 
’Tis true, that great indeed is the price of 
his prudence ; for twenty words, he exacts 
just so many nuggets of gold.” Here Jobo 
dropped his head, as though stung by an 
unwelcomed thought. But pshaw ! ” he 
shouted at last. What be the care, so 
long as he sends us relief? I cannot wait 
till a bireme go thither, and return. I must 
have aid in a few days. Ah, I have it now,” 
he tittered with a nifty grin. I will call my 
two grandsons Nibick and Slats. They 
are slender of build yet brave of soul. I 
will mount them on the backs of two of my 
fleetest albatrosses. These shall skim over 
land and sea till the castle of Sap be 
reached. 0, joy ! O, fragrant thought ! ” 
cackled the old man as he danced about. 
The eleven wise ones, now bowed low and 
backed out of the royal chambers, with 
shuffling feet. I am convinced they were 
wise, t]iey said so little. 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


In about two twocks ’’ or minutes, the two 
frail little pieces of bric-a-brac were seated 
on a dais in front of Jobo, their grandfather. 

Precious darlings/’ be began, patting 
them on the back, get ye quickly to the 
isle of Keboc this very day on the backs of 
your two fleetest albatrosses. Bring these 
nuggets of gold in your cript, and pray of 
Sap the all-wise, to direct me what to do 
that my domain may be preserved and my 
neck, incidentally, spared.” 

Yea, verily, royal progenitor, thy will is 
ours,” quoth the youngsters. So flinging 
their cripts across their shoulders, they 
strode to the hill of departure. The royal 
cymballiers stood ready to give them a 
rattling send-off. Just as you would hop 
on to a trolley car. Nibick and Slats, 
leaped on to the backs of the willing birds, 
and were off, while the multitude sent out a 
great thundering shout. Quite some faster 
than the wind, did the monster birds fly. In 
an incredibly short time, they turned the 
horizon and were lost to view. Old Jobo 
now stole to the joss-house (for he was a 
heathen), to burn sticks before his favorite 
deity Jimbaboo. He must have burned up 
the supply of sacred glues, for he tarried 
in the sombre temple all through the night. 
From the latest almanac, it appears that the 
291 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


journey of the two princes consumed two and 
seven-eighths days. 

When the albatrosses deposited their royal 
burdens on the front porch of Sap’s mansion, 
he came out in a lazy stroll and said : 

Well, who can these tots be ? ” Nibick 
and Slats, lost no time in making known the 
royal predicament, incidentally showing the 
nuggets of gold, just to give weight to their 
words. Sap listened patiently to the tale 
being unravelled to him, just as a doctor 
would. When he finally got all the facts, 
he rubbed his knuckles on his chin (a 
peculiarity of all wise men) and said : 

Frail young friends, that I might fill your 
order, I must ring up Vulcan.” Know ye, 
there were no ’phones in those days, so the 
magician shook a little bell by the neck, and 
instantly a giant, fifty feet in stature, stood 
at attention. Old Vulcan, as you recall, 
was a fashioner of iron, so be began to make 
his hammers fly just as Sap directed. The 
sparks flew, the anvil rang. The massive 
smith, at length, handed to the princes the 
two forged pieces of steel. Then he 
vanished as though gobbled up by a python. 

Stretch out your palms now, my mites,” 
bade the wonder-worker. The little royal 
ones did his bidding. Take these grains 
of incense ” he went on, When you return 
292 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


home, heat the bands of steel to a white heat. 
On them place a grain of incense. Instantly 
a column of smoke will curl heavenward. 
When it has assumed gigantic form, raise 
your left thumb and sing the divine word 
‘ Blip.’ Straightway, you will find, an 
army of soldiers will descend from the 
column, numbering twenty thousand in each 
column. 0 Sap, thou repository of genius, 
thine intellect is even as the Sun,” said the 
two princely twins. Good speech for young- 
sters ! 

* * ' * * * 

They come ! yea, verily, I see them ! ” 
shouted old King Jobo, when, two days later, 
standing on the pinnacle of his castle, he 
caught sight of the flapping wings of the 
albatrosses, along the horizon. The whole 
populace now flocked around the palace to 
hear the wondrous tales, Nibick and Slats, 
would have to relate. The women folks, of 
course, were in the majority. The slick 
youngsters, fooled the common folks how- 
ever, for, having alighted from the alba- 
trosses, they went straight to the royal apart- 
ments, and held a long conference with the 
king, their grandfather. The old gentleman 
had a loud and raspy voice, and those who 
listened at the keyhole aver, that at short 
293 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


intervals during the narrative, he kept saying, 
^‘Impossible! 0, joy! Well, well! Do it! 
do it ! and a lot of things like that, all in 
the imperative mood. 

For three whole days the people, patriotic 
as they must have been, were kept waiting 
before old Jobo gave them any inkling as to 
the import of the princes’ mission. All the 
while, the hostile savage armies were draw- 
ing near like a cordon around the kingdom. 
Still the days passed, and seemingly the king 
was immovable. One of the soothsayers, a 
woman, spread the report that the good old 
monarch had gone silly. Now, in view of 
his recent foolish turns, you can readily see 
how easily this theory was gobbled down. 
At last, one night, seventy-two royal scouts 
came galloping over the moats, into the castle- 
yard crying out, that the army of badger- 
faced warriors, were hastening “ en masse ” 
toward the city gates. “ ‘ En masse ’ did you 
say ? ” asked Jobo, “ Yes ! yes ! they all 
cried, in an impatient chorus. “ Ha ! ha ! 
So much the better,” he chuckled, clapping 
his sides. The cavaliers looked mutely at 
one another, as if to say, “ Alas ! years and 
worry have unbalanced the mind of our good 
king. So they wheeled about, and darted 
off, to take their places again at the outposts. 
They had scarcely left, however, when a band 
294 : 


HOW NIBICH AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


of fair maidens, clothed in white silk, with 
poppy crowns, came with outstretched hands 
to Jobo, and tearfully besought him to let 
his army loose, and defend the city. The 
king only made reply, My warriors bold 
shall fight no more.’’ The naiads departed. 
Next, the fathers of families came, and fall- 
ing on their faces, pleaded with the monarch, 
to send out his legion, and stay the destruc- 
tion and death, that were sweeping onward 
to them. But the only answer that met 
their plea was a bland smile. Know you, 
in those days, the respect paid to sovereigns, 
was deeper than it is in our times. Subjects, 
then, would lie face downward, and let the 
royal one walk over them, and deem it an 
honor ^^His dictis,” knowing these things, 
you can readily understand why it was, no 
uprising took form to force the king to an 
issue. Still, terror was in the hearts of all, 
especially so on the morrow, when the cav- 
alier-scouts ran madly into the city, crying, 
that the hordes were hastening thither, and 
rapid ruin would soon be theirs. For the 
first time, Jobo seemed to wake up from his 
lethargy. For calling to Nibick and Slats, 
he said in a calm way, My precious tots, 
bring your bands of steel hither, and your 
incense, and we will teach the world, that 
Jobo the Great has still the wisdom of 
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SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


his palmy days. Yes, verily, my time has 
come ! 

The populace, frigid with fear, and aban- 
doning all hope of life, watched with icy 
stare, the king go without the city gates, 
holding to the tiny hands of his grandchil- 
dren. See ! he is going to immolate him- 
self,’’ whispered the throng. The savage 
yells of the hostile tribes, now echoed through 
the valleys. The patter and thump of the 
horses’ feet came closer. The javelin-throwers 
were just preparing to batter down the walls, 
when the two princes, were seen to stoop. 

Alas ! ” the concourse cried, they give 
their necks to the lictors.” 

Just then a cloud of greenish smoke shot 
into the air. It resolved, then, like so many 
leaves in autumn, thousands of men fully 
panoplied, showered upon the land. Column 
after column of fumes ascended into the 
heavens, sending down the same shower of 
valiant fighters. Like a hurricane, they 
swept all before them, out into the ocean. 
Cloven heads flew into the air, like corks 
popping out of bottles. Blood gurgled and 
ran through the valleys, and so on to the sea. 
History bears no record of carnage so 
appalling as this. 

0, Allah be praised ! ” cried the be- 
wildered people. Mighty in wonder-work 
296 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


is our Jobo, and his grandchildren ! ” The 
terrible decimation consumed but an hour. 
When the atmosphere assumed its wonted 
calm, it was seen that not one of those who 
came to sack the city was left alive. 

The white-haired old monarch, now tossed 
his head, in conscious pride, and seemed 
real pleased with what he had done. Had 
he not reason to be ? The royal trumpeters 
and tympanisters, now rushed to the ban- 
quet hall, carrying the old monarch and the 
princes, on their shoulders, like the surf 
carries a chip. The heart of every one, was 
beating with powerful joy. The dopey ” 
old poets set their pencils clicking to make 
verse, in memory of the occasion. They 
wrote only one parchment full, however, 
when they stopped suddenly^ for it was found, 
that no word could be picked out, to rhyme 
with Jobo. We have one in our language, 
that would be congenial of rhyme, but I deem 
its use would be disrespectful. A feast was 
now prepared in the royal cenaculum, to 
which all, even the lowliest, were invited. 
For seventeen days the melody and wine 
flowed ad infinitum ’’ which means — 
without stint. At the end of that time, all 
grew so tired and wearied that they withdrew, 
and slept for seventeen days more. King 
Jobo swayed his sceptre many decades aftei: 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


this, and he, as well as his people, blest the 
genius of Sap the Wise. 

Poor old Jobo ! I suppose, ere this, he has 
passed away, and his bones, I trow, are buried 
under some hideous old Sphinx. Well — 
while he lived, he proved he was made of the 
right stuff, by the cool way in which he dis- 
posed of those horrid old black-faces. Really, 
I would like to make some wise comment on 
all the bright things the old ruler did, but I 
fear I will make my story too long in so 
doing. That fume was a wonder-worker, 
wasn’t it ? Once it soared on high, what a 
splendid relief it brought to the despairing 
souls of the people. 

Do you know, young friends, that in very 
like fashion, do your good prayers soar on 
high and bring relief to you. No doubt, you 
have felt at times tempted to sin or weighed 
by sorrow. Don’t you recall how you lifted 
your fevered little faces heavenward, and 
sighed a prayer that came from your very 
hearts ? How quickly relief came, as you 
began chatting with the angels. Many of 
you, I ween, need a little scolding to rouse 
you from your indifference in prayer, so I 
am going to deal it out to you as gently as 
I can. 

First, fix well in your minds your relation 
to your Father in Heaven. You are His 
298 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


loving children. Indeed, I may say, His 
“ little favorites.” Why ? Ah, you are so 
far from Him. And then, too, you are out in 
the open plains, where the merciless winds 
of temptation sweep so fiercely. When you 
pray to Him, it is like a child in a far-off 
wilderness sending a message home, for re- 
lief, to his father. The words cannot fail to 
soften the heart of the parent, and dispose 
him to grant any favor. In fact, do you 
know — Our Lord has said, Even though a 
mother shall forget her child, yet will I not 
forget you.” Does this not prove beyond 
all doubt His willingness to lend a gentle 
ear to your fervent little prayers ? 

It may sound strange to you, but it is 
true, your precious little souls can languish 
and fall a prey to disease, just as your bodies 
can. I need not tell you what to do, to 
nourish your bodies, you are well schooled 
in that. I am going to speak a word for 
your poor souls, whose gentle appeals are 
often not harkened to. I do say, — because, 
as a priest, I know — that many young folks 
starve their souls, and thus leave them 
weakened, to fight against temptation. Your 
bodies get three good meals a day, your 
souls should get at least two in the form of 
prayer. 

I cannot understand how some of you 
299 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


youngsters can be so heedless of this sacred 
duty, especially when you come to reflect, 
that it was the very first one that was drilled 
into you in your years of babyhood. In 
fact, as soon as you could prattle, or lisp the 
words of tots, you were taught your little 
prayers. Yes, just as regularly as the clock 
struck nine, you knelt at your mother’s knee, 
buried your curly little noddle in her lap, 
and lisped your night-prayers. Then, you 
were bundled into bed like a precious little 

roll ” as the angels hurried heavenward to 
present your petition at the throne of mercy. 
Meanwhile you were off to Slumberland. 

Young friends, as long as we live, yea, 
even if it be to the time when the touch of 
years will whiten our temples, we must 
pray, else, will the love of God and the 
yearning for heaven, pass out of our souls 
and we be lost to the light. 

Naturally now, your thoughts will turn 
inward, you will ask yourselves, How do I 
perform this duty of praying?” ‘^Do I 
delight in prayer, or do I find it an irksome 
task ? ” 

Perhaps just here, you may catch the im- 
pression, that I want you all to become long- 
faced and pious ” and pray every moment 
in the day. No, not at all. I am simply 
trying to sweeten the duty for you. You 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


must remember that your Father in Heaven, 
is all-powerful, you have many needs to be 
satisfied, many little trials to pass through. 
Alas, how often do we employ merely nat- 
ural means, to gain our ends, when prayer 
would waft them sweetly into our souls, as 
the zephyr of summer-tide Hfts the fra- 
grance of the awakening blossoms into the 
face of the wearied toiler. 

Pray then, my little Trojans, pray. When 
the cloudy day comes upon you ; when work 
is bad ; when home troubles multiply ; 
when sickness afflicts you ; when the 
friend you love seems to go back on you, 
Pray ! The magic power of prayer will 
right all your wrongs, and turn into smiles 
your dear little faces, bathed heretofore in 
scalding tears. The heavens often seem 
far away, when we lift our eyes to them. 
But it is not so. God is not imprisoned 
behind the clouds, like a king behind his 
ramparts. No, no ! He is as near to you, 
as your own father or mother. Stretch out 
your little hands, then, and catch hold of His 
robe. He can hear the faintest whisper. 
He can detect the softest sigh. Has He not 
said : I know your needs, even before you 

cry them to me, and I will heed them.” If 
a child asks for bread, of a father, will he 
proffer it a stone ? And if he asks for a fish, 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


will he give him a scorpion ? No, neither, 
then, will your Heavenly Father, turn away 
His face from the sight of your misery, or 
His ear from your cry for help. 

You may, perhaps, have heard it before, 
but I tell you again. Do you know, that 
fervent prayer begets peace of heart and 
mind ? It does. How do I know it ? 
Both from observation and from actual 
experience. 

In our lovely big church that stands as a 
soft-hearted mother in the centre of the city, 
I see every evening little clusters of the 
factory boys and girls kneeling just inside 
the door,’^ where the Master can see them. 
Their little clasped hands are soiled and 
blackened, but what matters it ? their souls 
are white as snow. So, there they kneel at 
the Master’s feet just as Mary Magdalene did 
of yore. Some of the little scamps pray 
with a whisper. I see their lips move. 
Others seem too tired to speak, they kneel 
back on their hunkers ’’and just look at 
the Lord, and He smiles at them. It is only 
for a few minutes. The little feet are soon 
pattering along the pavement again. The 
little lips that moved in prayer, are curled 
up in a whistle, or rounded in song. 

So, my little friends, pray, now, while 
your lips are ruddy and your voices musical, 
302 


HOW NIBICK AND SLATS SAVED THE COUNTRY. 


and your eyes lit with the mirth of youth. 
Pray now, when the battle of life is just 
beginning for you. The battle against the 
world, the flesh, and the devil. Learn to 
pray with faith and fervor. For it is a 
duty, that you will have to perform, as long 
as your little hearts keep their beating. 
Pray, then, to your Divine Master and to his 
Spotless Mother, with all the warmth of 
your hearts and souls. Joy and peace will 
come to your troubled little bosoms, as the 
years pass along, and when the Angel of 
parting ” calls you aside and whispers to 
you, that your course is run, and bids you 
prepare to pass beyond the Valley of Tears, 
your last sigh will be spent in prayer, as 
you say farewell to this life of toil and 
struggle. 

Need I tell you, your occupation in heaven 
will be the same as that of the angels, in 
chanting prayers. Not kneehng in sadness 
and calling for help, but moving through 
the courts of Paradise, with the choirs of 
angels, chanting the same old prayers and 
hymns you gave voice to as little tots, with 
this sole difference, they shall be set to a 
new and harmonious melody. Grit your 
little teeth now, and resolve that you shall 
pray better, now that you grasp its holy 
character. 


303 


Zbc XUpbeaval Hn anfmalbom. 


RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY. 

W OULD you believe it ? There was a time 
when the earth was ruled far different from 
what it is now. When the systems of gov- 
ernment moved along evenly, like a smooth- 
ing-iron over a shirt front. Then, there 
were no such things as strikes or wars. Those 
who owned big enterprises did not, then, have 
to be ever on the qui vive,’’ lest, at any 
moment, their employees should balk at 
some fancied wrong, drop their hammers and 
say, W eVe struck, — more money, or no 
work ! ” Yes, the rotund, rosy-cheeked cap- 
italists in those merry times, rolled into their 
hammocks at midnight hour, and dreamed 
sweetly, as ever and anon the gold coin 
rolled into their coffers, like corn from the 
husker. 

The artisans and toilers, those in the 
lower berths, know ye, were never at variance 
with the bosses. Time and again, they 
were known to clasp hand in hand and 
dance around the maypole, singing as they 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


did some merry rhyme like London bridge 
is falling down/’ Of all those who smoked 
pipes scarcely one used any other brand of 
tobacco save the one labeled Content/’ 
five swags a package. Of course, at the time 
I speak of, the earth was real innocent. 
There was a youthful softness about her 
that was charming. 0, fudge ! see the con- 
trast now. See how harsh and wrinkled 
her face has become. No wonder, — see the 
trouble she has had ! 

W ell, did you ever ! I think I’m drifting 
somewhat from the track of my story. 0, 
yes, I know now ; I was going to tell you 
about the universal nicety of the world be- 
fore that horrid upheaval occurred of which 
I shall speak longe et late.” 

Whenever a pale-faced bibliophile pulled 
down a musty tome in those days, he found 
invariably, that the very first word in the 
book was. Authority, with a big A. And 
the second was. Order, with a big 0. Why 
did these words so lead off the procession ? I 
have pondered, yea, often and deeply, for an 
answer to the riddle. Now, I have it ! They 
placed the words, in those days, according to 
their relative merit. Therefore, by force of 
logic, it appears to you, that A and 0, were 
held to be the two most important words in 
the language. Rub your chins now, and see 
20 305 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


if you can guess why they were put in the 
very front seats. Well, it seems to me 
that rulers and knights, must have thought 
much of authority in those times, and so 
they perforce were wont to keep everything, 
even their personal attire, in perfect order. 

Once for all now, let me stop talking 
about old kings, and suchlike. I told you 
in the beginning, that I intended to speak 
solely of animaldom, and so I herewith pro- 
ceed to keep my word. I must remark at 
the offset, that it was at this period that 
lexicographers began using the suffix dom 
on many words. Sometimes they even called 
boys dumb. So you see, there was Mouse- 
dom, Fishdom, Pussydom, etc., going to show 
you at a mere glance, that each species of 
animal, whether small or large, had a domain 
of its own, which was ruled by a royal one.” 
I must confess I cannot repress my admi- 
ration for that state of things. If there’s 
anything I like, in family or political life, it 
is — harmony, order, respect for authority. 

In those happy, happy decades. Old 
Mother Earth rolled her ponderous, well- 
rounded sides around with a slow graceful 
turn, and seemed perfectly content. There 
was no squeak to her axle, and few storms 
or hurricanes swished over her placid brow. 
Just in these years everybody — men, women, 
306 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


and children — wore the smile that was indel- 
ible. Well now, like little scientists, let us 
dive below the surface, and see what was 
the cause of all this harmony in things great 
and small. 

It was due, don’t you see, to the wide in- 
fluence of that first word found in all lexicon 
books : Authority, and, secondly. Order. 
Why, how so ? Because every one gave the 
graceful bend to his immediate superior. 
This beautiful scheme was carried on to the 
ultimatum. Thus you see, the ant bowed 
to the gray-coated cricket, and said, when 
courtesy exacted it, My gracious lord.” 
The cricket, on meeting the mouse, would 
duck his little noddle and prattle, My 
gracious master.” Of course, the mouse had 
to keep the pot a boiling. So, he, in turn, in 
coming across the pussy’s path, was supposed 
to say, My respected liege.” Well, realty! 
It could never be said of Miss Pussy, that 
she should be rude, so as she stepped from 
her boudoir and met the bland glance of 
Doggie Dan, she was always sure to purr up 
to him and coyly remark : “ My noble 
master.” In like manner Doggie Dan, was 
sure to pass it up the line, for as he trotted 
alongside the graceful coach-horse, he kept 
saying, as his breath came in short pants. 
My renowned superior 1 ” The faithful old 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


horse, I suppose, turned round in his traces, 
and facing the driver said something nice. 
No ! no ! it went up the animal gamut. 
Mr. Leo Lion was now in turn the recipient 
of obeisance from his subordinate — the horse, 
who always neighed in the sincerest tone, 

My fearless king.” Well, I expect this 
ends the mystic chain. No, it doesn’t. One 
link more. In those seasons the elephant 
stood on the very apex of excellence. 
Whenever he swung his heavy limbs along the 
highway, Leo Lion, with his mane and mus- 
tache nicely combed, would lower his noble 
head and say, Behold, 0 mighty lord, your 
humble servant.” Truly now, to say the 
least, conditions of life amongst the animals, 
were most soothing. No growling, no bark- 
ing, no fighting, like there is now. O dear ! 
To hurry along with my tale — bear well this 
fact in mind, that each species of animal 
had an isle of its own to dwell upon. Don’t 
you see now the wisdom of that plan ? 
Neighbors didn’t meddle with one another’s 
business. They had more important things 
to do than to gossip. 

I don’t find in the old heathen lexicon I 
speak of anything about detectives or police. 
I suppose, though, if there were any, they too 
received the deference that was due their 
brass buttons. There was but one game on 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


the boards in those times. It was Shinny 
on your own side/’ and everybody played 
it. If there were any such things as 
bickerings or wars. I’ll bet the generalis- 
simos had little to vex them in the way of 
insubordination, because the very air seemed 
to be charged with proneness to respect rulers, 
and obey them. Even the captains of base- 
ball teams doffed their hats to the umpire, 
and the players all salaamed when he strode 
proudly on to the field. How long did this 
orderly state of things continue ? I can 
scarcely tell. About five hundred years, I 
think. Why does it not obtain now ? What 
broke it up ? Surely cats and dogs are not 
friends now. No ! you are right. I will 
tell you all, even though my heart aches at the 
telling. The mice were the bottom of the 
whole trouble. Little villains ! I thought so. 

One fine day Miss Tootsi, queen of the 
mice’s island, was out in the lagoon sailing 
along on the dreamy waters and watching 
the shimmer of the moon twist itself into 
silver chains of a million different varieties. 
As her frail bark was swinging around the 
point whereon the Maison du The ” stood, 
a group of idle little mice sat on a calamus 
twig dabbling their feet into the water. 

Tootsi,” of course, lifted her veil and be- 
stowed on one of the young codgers a sweet 
309 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 

smile. All save one returned it. This one, 
who subsequently proved to be the pivot of 
the whole disturbance, said, Huh ! She ain’t 
so much. She’s got no right to swing her 
baton over our heads — has she ? ” Like a 
ringworm on a schoolboy’s neck, this sore 
sentiment seemed to widen its circumference, 
until every little mousey on the island took 
up the refrain, and so chimed in the chorus 
as Tootsi swept along, 0, you ain’t so 
much ! ” V ery well, then,” said the pompous 
little queen. So she picked up her tresses 
and sailed across to the nearby isle whereon 
the pussies lived in peace. She started in 
to tell the quiet listeners the whole trouble 
from beginning to end. What was the 
effect of this revelation ? Ah, I tremble to 
tell. The cute little puss in whom Tootsi 
had confided, opened wide her eyes and said. 
My ! — good idea ! ” Why should we be ruled 
by an equal ? So the little imp spread the 
news. It flew like fire. So one fine morn- 
ing, as Queen Pussy stalked along the realto, 
she was given to understand, that she was no 
better than those she ruled. In fact, she was 
told to come down off her perch and be queen 
no longer. V ery well, saucy subjects,” 

said she, ^^I’ll go tell the great Bow-wow 
Prince of Dogdom, and he’ll fix you. I’ll bet.” 
Soj off she flew in the dainty air-ship across 
31Q 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


the stream (pshaw ! air-ships are old !). She 
started to unfold her doleful tale, here and 
there throwing in a whimper. Goodness, 
how the little Bow-wows panted and frisked 
about to catch all the tale. 

Now what do you think they said to Miss 
Pussy, as she finished her story, and stamped 
her foot on the ground ? Huh ! it strikes us 
as just the ideal thing,” said a little poodle 
with white-tipped nose. “ So say we all,” 
broke in the chorus in a deafening noise. 
Close by, of course, stood Prince Bow-wow, 
with satin slippers, about to step into his auto. 

I’m surprised at you subjects,” said he in 
a cool tone ; yea, more, I’m pained. Royal 
chauffeur, drive me to Prince Cheval’s castle, 
he, the ruler of Horsedom, shall know all. 
I shall get the aid of his mighty hoofs to 
stamp out these upstarts ! ” His bidding 
was done in a twink. 

It so happened that old Prince Cheval was 
away on some business pertaining to the 
horse-show. So, just to lighten his mind. 
Prince Bow-wow confided the predicament 
to the many idle horses that crowded about 
the square, to talk over the races. Bow-wow 
spoke real fervently. When he had put a 
finish to his peroration, he said, What think 
you of such insolence ? ” To his dismay, all 
the horses kicked up their heels and neighed 
3U 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Bravo ! We shall do even as your serfs 
have done.’’ 

Word was sent to old Prince Cheval by 
wireless telegraphy, so they say. When he 
got the sad message of the secession of all 
his subjects he fell dead. I learned after- 
wards that it was to Lionville that old Prince 
Cheval had betaken himself. When, there- 
fore, the telegram was read aloud, the lions 
all began running around in a circle, roaring 
ominously. ^^We too shall throw off all 
authority even as the mice, and the pussies, 
and the dogs, and the horses,” they roared. 

Like a meadow-fire, this spirit of rebellion 
spread, even to Elephantville. They pranced 
like so many sun-dancers, when the divers 
capers of the diverse animals became known, 
so the elephants did. Yea, more, they made 
the hills tremble with their mighty bellowing, 

Give us liberty, or give us death.” At 
this juncture, the whole agitated herd made 
a rush for the mainland whereon man alone, 
until then, lived in peace. Yea, verily, the 
spectacle was like unto a waste-basket that 
is emptied on a windy day. Elephants lost 
their trunks. Mice were crushed beneath 
the lion’s claws (served them right). The 
horses kicked about everything. Pussies and 
Bow-wows became locked in deadly conflict, 
^nd oh, a terrible row was at hand ! 

m 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


Well, how did all this upheaval affect 
mankind? I’ll tell you. When the plough 
horses sniffed the air of liberty they broke 
traces, and left the ploughs standing in the 
furrows. So, being spring-time, you can 
see how there were no crops that fatal sum- 
mer. Men began to wither away with hun- 
ger, and children began to cry piteously, even 
for crumbs. Things were beginning to take 
a sad turn, and everybody was out of work, 
when, one day, as a crowd of strikers stood 
by a sand-hill making wicked speeches, old 
King Elephant said, ^^My fellow-creatures, 
here we are bickering and quarreling about 
mere fossils, yea, starving, and behold, be- 
neath our feet the tiny ants are laying up 
their feed for the winter. See, they follow 
the voice of their commander, the little red 
headed ant. Alas ! you have all made a sad 
mistake, in throwing of the yoke of authority. 
Heaven decrees that we bend our backs to a 
superior power.” 

What did the multitude say to this sudden 
outburst of eloquence ? Strange to tell, not a 
word. Guilt made them all hang their 
heads, and slink away. Of course, as usual, the 
mules kicked a little, but no one paid heed 
to it. The sentiment against the mice, the 
cause of the whole turmoil, now became very 
bitter. Everybody began crying, day and 


SHORT TALKS TO^OHNG TOILERS. 


night, Down with the mice ! Death to 
the mice ! ’’ So the war of extermination be- 
gan, and it has since continued, even to our 
day. Scientific men, you must know, after 
many years of patient research, have fashioned 
a snare by which to trap all mice. It has 
worked great havoc in the course of years. 
Even in our day, this device is still used. I 
suppose until the crack of doom, everybody 
will hunt to death the little wicked mouse 
whose want of respect for authority in the 
beginning caused the whole world to slip out 
of its level groove. 

Come now, little friends, don’t stop at the 
terminal of the story. Run along with me 
to the end. Let us now get real serious, and 
forget the mice, for I have a little sermon 
pent up in my soul that I yearn to preach to 
you. I want you to fix in your little brains 
this fact. It is according to God’s design 
that all should be subject to authority, and 
that we are bound to show respect to those 
who are placed over us either in the religious 
or civil world. 

Supposing all the stones of a castle would 
some day insist on being equally on top. 
What would be the effect ? Why, the castle 
would fall to ruin. So in our world, some 
must rule and direct. Others must obey and 
listen. There may be many members, but 
314 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALUOM. 


there can be but one head. This plan of 
government by authority has its foundation 
with God Himself. In Paradise everything 
is beautifully gradated like the strings of a 
lyre. So in the world a system of ruling 
modeled after the heavenly country,” is in 
force. The most perfect and harmonious form 
of government in existence is that of the 
Catholic Church. The Pontiff at Rome, 
can in an instant lay his finger on the brow 
of his humblest subject in the farthermost 
part of the world, and the subject will on 
bended knee pay homage to his spiritual 
Father. 

Your immediate superiors are your pa- 
rents, their right over you is most sacred. 
They hold authority over you by a God- 
given right, next to that of God Himself. 
Therefore you must harken to their com- 
mands and respect their authority. Here, 
then, is the first stop for reflection. Of the 
Child Jesus, your model, it is said, “ He 
went down with them and came to Nazareth, 
and was subject to them.” Shining through 
the mists of centuries, the light of His 
example comes to you young toilers, to en- 
lighten your minds on the obhgation that 
rests upon you to respect parental authority. 

The importance of this duty is shown by 
the very sanction God made use of in 
315 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


giving us the fourth commandment, Honor 
thy father and thy mother/’ — that is, render 
to them every mark of respect and reverence. 
Ah, my little toilers, this is indeed due them, 
from the very fact, that they hold in our re- 
gard the place of God. In honoring them, 
therefore, we honor God Himself. You 
youngsters who pay no heed to the words of 
your parents, beware ! Holy W rit says. 

Cursed be he that honoreth not his father 
and his mother.” On the other hand, He 
that honoreth his mother, is as one that 
layeth up a treasure. He that honoreth his 
father, shall have joy in his own children, 
and in the day of his prayer he shall be 
heard.” Just think, these are the words of 
God Himself, embodying a promise of favors 
without stint to the loyal son and daughter. 

How sad it is, even in our day, to see 
how many young men and young women 
pay no heed to the divine injunction, “ Honor 
thy father and thy mother.” I know not 
why, but filial reverence seems to be a virtue 
that is practised by the few. As soon as a 
young man begins to work, or a young 
woman to wear long dresses, they begin to 
sniff an air of false freedom. They seem to 
think they are perfect autonomists. It is 
childish, they say, to be ordered around by 
the old folks, so they launch the proclamation 
310 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


that they are henceforth their own bosses. 
Alas ! that such a course of action is at- 
tended only too often by painful results, by 
copious tears, is only too true. 

0, boys and girls, obey your parents 
while God leaves them to you. They will 
be called away only too soon. They may 
not be possessed of many of those external 
refinements that are sought after in our day, 
by the gilded-foreheaded fools of the world. 
But they have good hearts and loyal souls, 
and above all, judgments sharpened by ex- 
perience, and they know where the shoals 
and pitfalls lay. Behind those old wrinkled 
foreheads and silver hairs, there is a brain 
made steady by years of observation, and a 
mind enlightened by heavenly grace, and 
from thence you can draw the wisdom ac- 
cording to which you must act, if you would 
save your lives from ruin and disaster. St. 
Paul here lends the weight of his words. 
Children, obey your parents, in all things ; 
for this is well pleasing to the Lord.” 

My good young friends, your respect for 
authority must be carried without the walls 
of your homes. In the mill or workshop, 
you still stand under authority, and I’m sad 
to say this causes some of you young folks 
uneasiness. You yearn to throw off all 
bossism, as you term it, just as one likes to 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


pull off a tight shoe. ‘^It pinches.” Here, 
then, I must bid you turn to your Divine 
Master, who has a word to say on this subject. 

Remember, there is no power but from 
God, and those that are in authority receive 
their power from God.” Therefore we 
should ever treat those in high places with 
respect and consideration. Here let me re- 
mark something that I have often heard 
while chatting with my little working chums. 
I know not why it is, but you youngsters 
get it into your heads, that because a boss is 
placed over you, that therefore, he must be 
your enemy. Some of you become like little 
mules as soon as the boss comes into the 
room. This is all wrong, believe me. This 
dislike for a foreman or forelady is often 
born of a distorted notion as to your relation 
to her or him. When your little minds 
grow feverish and rebel against authority 
such as this, it shows that you are already 
imbibing the first feelings of a dangerous 
socialism, which with its years, will develop in- 
to rampant anarchy. Heavens ! don’t become 
anarchists ! Those horrid fellows with 
bushy whiskers ! Don’t imagine that every 
boss is your enemy, because he is placed 
over you. No. God Himself has so ordered 
things. Through the mouth of St. Peter I 
say to you, ye subjegt to every human 
318 


AN UPHEAVAL IN ANIMALDOM. 


authority, for God’s sake, whether it be to the 
king or to the rulers sent by him,” and St. 
Paul expressly declares, that those who re- 
sist the power of a superior, resist the ordi- 
nance of God, and purchase to themselves 
damnation.” 

Whatsoever ye do, do in the name of 
Christ Jesus Our Lord.” Here is the cool- 
ing zephyr that allays all your feverish 
thoughts, little friends.” The authority, the 
yoke of Jesus, is placed on your little necks 
when you go to work. It is this yoke that 
often oppresses you. Are you going to jerk 
it from your necks and throw it aside, when 
the Divine hands of your Master has placed 
it there ? No, I’m sure you are not. I bid 
you, then, look upon Christ, in the person of 
your masters and mistresses, and labor well 
in their service, since by so doing, you are 
serving God, not man. Servants,” — you 

working children, — St. Paul says, be obe- 
dient to them that are your lords accord- 
ing to the flesh, as to Christ, not serving to 
the eye, as it were pleasing men, but, as the 
servants of Christ doing the will of God 
from the heart, with a good heart serving 
the Lord, not men.” 

0, how much better, how much more con- 
tentedly would you little folks labor, and 
how much more merit would you gain if 
319 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


you would profit by this little instruction, 
and do all your work to please not men, but 
your Divine Master, who rewards so liber- 
ally. The thought that His All-seeing eye is 
upon you through the day, and that even 
the least work done to please Him, will not 
pass unrewarded, would sweeten your toil 
and make the heavy hours glide away, like 
gloom before the morning sun. 


320 


Ibow /r&u3ma was dbangeb* 


MUSIC. 

0, BUT he was the brutal old Sheik ! that 
Muzma the Fat.” The reddest page in 
history, or the blackest annals in villainy 
contain no characters so devilish as he. I 
doubt if even the most insatiate cannibal 
that ever stalked over the land, could equal 
him. Perhaps you think I’m prejudiced. 
W ell. I’ll tell you all, and you can judge for 
yourselves. It was on the northern shore of 
Africa, in the walled country of Morocco, 
that Muzma held sway some two thousand 
years ago. Of course, at that time, nearly 
all the sceptre-wielders of Africa were ugly 
and horrid beyond all telling. He had a 
gorgeous castle to be sure. The roof was 
of rolled gold. But, 0, terror ! a peep 
within the rooms would have shivered you. 
The floors of every boudoir, were covered 
with the scalps of children. Of course 
there was a variety in color in this human 
carpeting. It was not unsightly, from an 
artistic standpoint. But, oh, think ! The 
scalps of human beings to be tread upon by 
21 321 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the unholy feet of a savage prince ! You 
cry Enough ! — this is enough to convict 
the wizard monarch.” But pause, there is 
another clincher ” against him. Where 
could all these scalps have come from ? Be 
calm, you shall hear, — Muzma was a canni- 
bal, an eater of human flesh, although his 
surrounding courtiers were not. Yes, and 
know you, that no other form of food would 
suit him. V enison, or boeuf a la jardi- 
niere,” or any of those dishes, which the 
cook could have so easily gotten ready, 
would he so much as look at. No, he must 
devour at least one plump little boy each 
day. IVe often heard of rulers eating kids, 
but never boys. So you see that in one 
year, old Muz’ had consumed just three 
hundred and sixty-five gargons. What do 
you think of that? Well, well ! But, tell 
me, did not the bloody monarch ever be- 
come annoyed with deranged stomach from 
such unusual diet ? Nay, not so. Even 
though some of the boys were quite tough. 
He quaffed his ‘‘ Yin ordinaire ” and called 
for more, until the butler would sneak by 
mildly and with a practised smile say : 

Ail gone, your majesty.” 

After his heavy meal, old Muzma would 
roll on to his couch like an elephant into a 
pirQUS-ring^ and snore till supper-tiiUQ camQ 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


round. I must say, I don’t find any record 
of his having done much else than eat and 
sleep, unless he worked nights. 

How long did this drastic state of affairs 
continue pray ? Just ten years. In that 
decade (just think of it !) three thousand six 
hundred and fifty boys, were gobbled up, 
and the scalps thereof spread on the royal 
floor. 0, terror ! Did no neighboring king 
essay to use fraternal correction on him ? 
No ! no ! Royalty doesn’t care what royalty 
does, as long as life flows on like one grand 
sweet song. Didn’t the people rise up in 
globo ” ? What was the use ? they had no 
weapon, but clubs, and the old sheik’s skull 
was too thick to feel the thud of a club. 
So, you can see, how it was the people 
suffered so supinely. Some chronologists 
hold to it, that the fathers of children 
didn’t worry when the royal spearsman came 
to bring a cited boy to the cookery. They 
say the old sheik would send a box of ^^yan ” 
to the father, and so the latter, thinking him- 
self well repaid, would not stand opposed to 
the cruel old savage’s whim. I am pleased to 
say, however, that the mothers of sons didn’t 
act thus. They opposed the bloody tastes of 
Muzma with all their might. They held 
indignation meetings, but, pshaw ! what 
further can they do, but talk ? 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


One day a good mother was wending her 
way home from the castle, after having seen 
her son roasted on the royal spit. He was 
the last of eight, a chipper little lad, of about 
nine years of age. 0, how the poor mother 
wept ! Can you blame her ? What is 
more pitiable, she wept alone. 0, if you had 
been there I am sure you would have con- 
soled her. Well, she was passing, at dusk, 
through the forest path that led to her 
home, a mile distant. When she grew faint 
from sobbing, a kindly citron-bush stretched 
its arms out, and bade the mother be seated 
and refresh herself. And she did pause, 
and accept the proffered tenderness. Her 
tears soon dried and, tasting of the fruit, 
she soon took on her wonted composure. 
Was she losing her senses, or were her eyes 
affected ? Before her, a citron blossom be- 
gan to swell, and grow, until it — what do 
you think ? — transformed itself into the 
fairest forest nymph you ever saw. 0 my ! 
but her voice was soothing. She spoke 
very low, with scarcely an inflection. 0, 
martyred mother,’’ she now began. You 
have lost your worthy sons, to the wicked 
king, and you weep. Your heart is break- 
ing. But, be comforted. Because of your 
virtue, I, Felicia, the banisher of sadness, 
have come to give you back your lost 
324 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANCED. 


treasures.” What ? ” gasped the mother, 
what say you, fair nymph, — you tell me I 
am to receive back my eight sons? 0, 
tease me not into madness.” No ! be 
calm,” said the good virgin, in the same 
undisturbed tone, Take these eight seeds 
to your garden. Plant them, as the tears 
of heaven fall in sympathy with you. Mark 
me, in one night, they will grow to the 
height of five feet. When the sun kisses 
them, they shall blossom in eight difPerent 
sizes. As the tenth hour dawns, pluck these 
smiling blossoms from their stalks, and hold- 
ing them in offering to the lord of the clouds 
say, 0, Thodal, king of nations, return to 
me the jewels of my soul.” As the echo of 
the last syllable of your prayer dies on the 
hills, lo, your sons shall stand before you 
wearing the same curls and doublets that 
they did, when last you parted with them, at 
the golden gate. So, laying her delicate 
hand on the head of the widowed mother in 
benediction, the nymph sailed away to her 
bower in the heart of the forest. 

As though wings were pinioned to her 
shoulder-blades, the delighted mother strode 
hastily through the fern path to her home, 
clutching tightly the while, the priceless 
seeds. When she arrived at last before the 
old rustic gate, she was amazed to find that 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the torch in her home was lighted, and the 
birds were singing in the boughs. The 
mother must have been faint with hunger, 
but she tarried not for food, but straightway 
planted the mystic seeds. They had no 
sooner sunk into their little pockets in the 
ground, than little sprouts began to push 
their tiny noses out to snuff the air. My ! 
how the good woman’s heart leaped ! She 
now knelt, and prayed heaven to make 
true the words of Felicia, the good nymph. 

Somebody must have pushed the clock on, 
for it seemed as though only two minutes 
had sped by, when suddenly the sun dashed 
its light over the eastern hills, and let its 
rays fall on the buds. In a second they rose 
to beautiful stalks of eight beautiful sizes. 
In the excitement, the tenth hour came 
around away ahead of its proper place, and 
so, just as the prophetess had said, the smil- 
ing mother pulled up the fragrant buds, and 
holding them to heaven sang, O Thodal, 
king of nations, return to me the jewels of 
my soul.” Sure as fate, as the last echo of 
the prayer passed away, the eight sons, that 
had met such cruel deaths by roasting, landed 
nimbly upon the ground before the fond 
mother. Needless to say, she flung her arms 
awide, and her bosom heaved as if her heart 
did really expand with love. Now, rushing 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


forward, she showered kisses on the brows 
of the eight sons come back again to life. 
O, the love of a true mother’s soul is ex- 
haustless as the ocean ! It knows no limits. 
So for many, many minutes, she said nought, 
but hastened from one to the other, cooing 
softly, My sons, 0 my sons ! ” 

At last, a fair vision arrested the attention 
of the good mother and the eight sons. 
Behold, it was Felicia ! She had come to 
send the sons back again to the king’s 
cookery. Nay ! say not so. Speaking again 
softly as was her wont, she said, Tarry not, 
good mother, but hasten with thy eight sons 
to Sigmunda who dwelleth in the land of 
Barad. She imparts all knowledge by the 
touch of her chastened fingers. Ask of her 
to breathe into the soul of your first-born, a 
limitless knowledge of the art of melody and 
song. The mother of the eight, as some 
mothers do, grew excited at this new bit of 
welcome news, and hastened away lickety- 
split with her kith, never so much as saying 
a word of thanks to the good nymph. But 
of course Felicia excused her. 

0 luminous Sigmunda,” cried the mother 
of the eight as she and they fell on their 
faces before the radiant one. Give to the 
clouded intellects of your suppliants, all 
wholesome science, and to my first-born, the 
.327 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


art o£ melody and song.” The radiant onO 
arose, but spoke not. Stretching forth her 
immaculate arms, she said, ^^Be thy desires 
all gratified, 0 mother of the eight.” And 
instantly, all the coveted gifts rushed into 
the intellects of the sons, like light into a 
dark room. 

Several months rolled by, when a young 
troubadour strode from town to town, with 
lyre flung across his shoulder. At certain 
glens, he would tarry, and twanging his 
divine instrument, he would lift his voice in 
sweetest chant. Little song-birds fluttered 
in glee above his head. Children seemed so 
charmed, that they could not take their eyes 
from him. They tagged after him, wherever 
he went. But ah, the sweetest effect of his 
lay was this : — It left in its wake a feeling of 
peace and joy, and banished from the heart 
of him who heard it, all bitterness and cruelty. 
So that, as this first-born son strode through 
the land, he left the hearts of all, young and 
old, throbbing with love. Yea, even it is 
said, that toadies, and birds, and chipmunks, 
hobbled after him wherever he went, so en- 
chanted did they become at the sound of his 
mezzo ” voice. Ah, then, it appeareth that 
this minstrel had wide varieties to his reper- 
toire, yea, verily, he had at least fifty-seven. 

Well, one day as he lay reclining near the 
328 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


dell of Felicia, he was rudely startled by the 
patter of thousands of feet on the velvety 
meadow. He lifted his soft brown eyes, and 
lo ! a crowd of people from the walled city 
of Morocco, wherein Muzma the gourmand 
lived, came with outstretched arms pleading: 

0 eldest of the eight sons of Sarai, thy 
voice and thy melody have swept gladness 
into the souls of all who have heard them. 
They have dried up the river of tears in all 
lands. Come you, now, we deeply pray, to 
the city of Morocco which is ruled over by 
the bloody Muzma. He the devourer of 
human flesh. Yea, do come, and by your 
dulcet tones, change his heart to gentle- 
ness, and by your holy voice, deaden his 
lusts.’’ 

The minstrel boy now rose up, and stand- 
ing on a mossy stone did make reply. 0, 
pleading brothers and sisters, even now in 
your train will I go to the castle of which 
I have painful memories. Lead on, and shall 
I follow.” So forthwith did the throng 
head for the gates of Morocco and so did the 
minstrel follow even as he had said. The 
hour at which the band reached the gates of 
the palace, was that after midday, and the 
sensuous Muzma was just stretching his lazy 
form upon the leathern divan. Just here, a 
voice sweet as that of the son of Jubal floated 
3 ^^ 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


through the latticed windows, and soothed 
his heart, — perhaps his head too. Ah,’’ said 

the old boar, getting up on his elbows, as 
one rousing from a dream, Ah, how sweet ! 
Ye gods ! sweeter still it grows. 0, how it 
soothes my soul, even as dew the parched 
flower ! How it changes even the pulsings 
of my heart ! ” At last, grizzly old Muzma 
was overcome. He rushed to the lattice, and 
pulled it back, calling out, Come, fair son, 
0 come even closer to my bosom, and chant 
to me.” The gentle lad, with a smile, and 
never slackening his lay, ambled into the 
royal presence. The old villain seemed 
struck dumb. He riveted his infernal eyes 
on the fair young face before him, as if to 
say “ Haven’t I seen you before ? ” B ut this 
humor quickly passed away, and Muzma be- 
gan to grow sad and penitent, for he pressed 
his jeweled hands to his brow as if to keep 
remorse from splitting his brain. 0,” he 
moaned like one in a delirium, 0, if I only 
had that gentle influence breathed into my 
soul before, I should never have been the 
hateful king that I am.” The old hag who 
had charge of the royal gowns, now came 
purring up close to her lord, in an endeavor 
to quiet him. 0 Muz,” she said softly, 
do try to compose yourself.” But the old 
royal piece motioned her away. Avaunt,” 
330 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


said he, and the old dame withdrew. Muzma 
now sat down and wept bitterly for hours. 

V ery early on the morrow, he sent a carrier 
pigeon to the dell of Sigmunda, who came. 

0 gentle one,” cried the old king, thou 
hast power to recall those whom I have de- 
voured back to the realm of life. I pray 
thee, for twelve measures of rubies bring back 
from the Stygian shore, all those whom I 
have destroyed by my devilish appetite. 0 
magnitudinous one,” rejoined the nymph 
bowing low, thy whim is my pleasure. I 
must ask of thee, however, to step into thy 
dungeon for the space of one hour.” This 
Muzma did without a scowl. Sigmunda 
now sang a low psalm, and, oh, wonderful to 
tell ! a beautiful white-robed army came 
streaming through the heather fringed lawns, 
into the royal gardens. I’m sorry Sigmunda 
opened that dungeon door, but she did. 
Muzma, now came forth still blubbering ” 
and said, My life is filled with evil. Ke- 
morse, contrition bite my soul. 0, the tor- 
turing memory of all my bloody deeds ! I 
shall go to the valley of Lacrymay, and be- 
wail my offenses.” Turning now to the 
sweet-voiced young bard, old Muzma said 
You, fair one, shall rule in my stead.” 

For many years did the wicked old villain 
do penance for his crimes. From that day 
331 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


to this, no ruler of Morocco, has done such 
weird things as old Muzma did. So much for 
the sweet power of melody. 

I was going to stop here, with the telling 
of this story, my young friends. But, do 
you know, it has awakened such a sweet train 
of thought about melody and song, that I 
think I’ll keep on talking a little further. 
W ell, how will I shape my talk ? It will be 
about the effects of music upon our young 
hearts and souls. What a wonderful change 
a few sweet notes had on the tough old heart 
of Muzma the Bad. 

Since I essay to talk about so sweet 
a subject as music, I will employ the nicest, 
the most rhythmical words that I can find to 
convey my thoughts. 

Music then, is a sweet little life companion, 
that takes up an acquaintance with us the 
moment we open our eyes on the light of the 
world. Yes, its soft lips kiss our little faces 
and soothe our little hearts, whenever the 
fitful cloud of sadness would rest on our 
infant brows. What was it that chased away 
the pearly little tears, when, in childhood 
hours, some calamity, like a toothache or a 
bruised finger, caused you to run instantly to 
mother, and tell her all about it? Don’t 
you recall ? It was the soft low music of 
her love-warmed voice. She caught you up 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


like a little bundle into her arms, pressed 
your tearful little face to her bosom, then 
gently, softly, she began crooning a melody, 
and soon by its holy power, you were wafted 
amidst the fluttering wings of angels into the 
baby’s heaven. Yes, even in this hazy 
period of your life, this noble sentiment, 
this love of melody, fastened upon your soul. 

The years rolled around and you, in time, 
like a little bird, began to echo back sweet 
melodies to mother. Y ou now lifted your tiny 
voices in song, and did you notice you sang al- 
ways at that time, when your soul was merriest 
— and sinless. This is natural, for music, real 
music, is only an echo from a soul bubbling 
over with the grace of God. Sinful souls, de- 
based hearts, sensual minds cannot sing. They 
are voiceless. They sigh, but cannot sing. 

Melody and song, then, are what I may call 
correlatives with virtue, with purity of 
heart. And is not innocent childhood but 
the exponent of the angelic virtue ? Yes, 
we love music best when in our fairy years 
— before Satan begins to spoil our sen- 
sitive ear by his harsh discordant whisper- 
ings of sin. Do you know, your souls do 
not grow as your physical beings do. No, 
no. We hear of beautiful souls ” ofttimes. 
The soul of the child is the most beautiful crea- 
tion in the whole universe. The noble impulses 
333 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


and emotions, that in later years may move us 
to great and heroic deeds of love and sacrifice, 
are in our souls as little tots. They may 
lie dormant. Still they are there. They 
need only to be brought under the proper 
influences and they will assert themselves. 

I recall now that, as a little chap, I sat one 
Sunday evening in our humble home. The 
rest of the young folks were out frolicking in 
the snow — for it was winter time. The 
church in those days was distant from us 
about five miles, and so, when it stormed, 
those living afar thought it prudent to stay 
at home. On an evening such as this, my 
sainted mother, who was then in her prime 
and who was gifted by heaven with the 
sweetest voice I ever heard, took up a 
score of some cantata, and began singing it. 
Her tones were soft, low, vibrating, soul-felt, 
I at the time was playing with my little 
blocks. As the melody of mother’s voice 
crept softly into my heart, I seemed to be 
overpowered with an emotion that even 
now I cannot express. I cannot call it 
sadness, nor could I call it joy. It seemed 
to wrap itself about me, like a cloud of 
sacred incense, and bear me away, far away, 
I laid by my little blocks. Soon tiny tears, 
briny but sweet, crept to my eyelids, 
trembled, then streamed on to my cheeks. 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


Like filings of steel to the magnet, I was 
drawn powerfully to mother’s side, the tears 
rolled faster. At last I placed my tiny hand 
on her arms then buried my head in her 
bosom, and my little frame shook with weep- 
ing. 0, not that kind that tells of sadness, 
hut rather the one which speaks of emotion. 
Those tones trickled though my heart and 
touched some strange undeveloped sentiment 
in me that has never since, as I recall, been 
stirred. 

Mother’s voice is still now. At least it 
is heard no more in this vale of tears. She 
went away last May. If I am good I 
know 1 shall hear her sing again in heaven. 

My young friends, I feel as though I 
could talk all day on this theme, so dear to 
my heart. But I mustn’t — you won’t listen. 

Some one has said, that from the cradle 
to the grave, joy and gloom alternate 
their dominion over us day by day. It is 
true that no heart that loves music can ever 
become depraved or wander deeply into that 
vice which deadens the soul. 

See the little rascals on the street skipping 
rope, and splitting the air with their laugh- 
ter. There is a system to their movement, 
and a melody in their shouts. See ! here 
comes the piano-man up the street ! ” A 
song of glee goes up. The little ones put 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


aside all, and rush madly at the Dago.” 
Are they glad to see him? Yes, verily. 
What a royal welcome they give him. Hear 
the tiny feet patter on the pavement, as the 
notes fly. And when he (the artist) turns 
to drag his machine away, how the little 
cherub faces droop, how longingly all eyes 
tarry on him, until he turns into another 
street. 

This only shows again, the presence in 
the young soul of a longing for what is 
pure, noble, elevating ; and if nasty old Sin 
would never come around, these young 
codgers ” would skip and laugh through 
the years until their limbs, by the process of 
time, would become unyielding and stiff. 

Melody begins to rock our cradles. It 
sweetens our hours of life, and when the 
day begins to fade, it chants over us its 
sombre requiem tones as we wrap the drapery 
of our couch about us, and then lie down 
to pleasant dreams. More than this. It 
tarries for our coming at the portals of 
heaven, and, if admitted thereunto, our souls 
will be lifted by the Canticles of Paradise, 
sweeter than which, there are none. 

So you see, little friends, the love of music 
is as closely woven into the tiny strands of our 
hearts, as love for the flowers and the sun- 
shine. In fact, they are their sisters : Melody, 
336 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


Flowers, and Sunsliine. They try ever, to 
steal our thoughts back to heaven, when we 
would allow them to cling to the groveling 
earth and its sordid amusements. 

It was to arouse the dejected soul of Saul, 
that David strode before him, and twanged 
his harp and sang. But, alas! the soul of 
this unwise monarch being at the time held 
captive by a base passion, it would not 
allow the holy breath of David’s song to 
pour into him. Didn’t I tell you that sin 
and sweet melody cannot be crowded in the 
same heart at once? It is true then. 

Now, if you little toilers think that I have 
gone to the trouble to write this chapter, 
just to let you see a specimen of my com- 
posing, you are misguided. I like to write 
with a purpose. Surely, then, there is one 
to this talk. Yes, I believe — (I hope I’m 
right) — that music can be made to have a 
good influence upon your loyal young 
hearts. I would have those of you who 
hold the talent for music, to have that talent 
developed, if you have the chance. I know 
that at the present time there is a tendency 
amongst some little fellows to pick out rag 
time” ballads, learn to sing them, and then 
think that their musical education is com- 
plete. Rise above this, young friends. The 
talent for better things is in you, if you will 
22 337 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


only tease it out. Of course, I realize that 
many of you have not the means to become 
thorough musicians. Those of you who are 
conscious of musical leaning, however, should 
try to develop it. Save your nickels now. 
Take lessons, practice faithfully, and in later 
years you will not regret your investment. 

If God has blest you with a singing voice, 
try to improve it. Get the rough edges off 
it, polish it up. Join your church choir. 
Learn classic songs. Let your loved ones 
at home hear you sing, even if Providence 
has not blessed you with means sufficient to 
buy a piano. The guitar is a sweet little 
blender with song. You can learn it easily, 
almost by yourselves. You young folks 
are now in the springtime of life, you 
should now be very happy. What do little 
birds do in the springtime? Why, they 
sing, and sing, the livelong day. Then 

“ Sing, sing, Music was given 
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving ; 

Souls here, like planets in heaven. 

By harmony’s laws, alone are kept moving.” 

Here my talk ends, I have spoken to you, 
on this unusual subject, young friends, be- 
cause I am a firm believer in the elevating 
and sanctifying power of song, particularly 
over young budding hearts. 

338 


HOW MUZMA WAS CHANGED. 


Most things, most people too, I think, in 
this world are good. If they are not, it is 
because they are fooled by vice, who comes 
around dressed up in a gaudy garb, just to 
catch them. The soul is naturally good 
surely. It tends ever by thought and 
yearning to lift itself heavenward. Melody, 
also, particularly those blessed by your Holy 
Mother, is calculated to purify your souls, 
and lift them to higher ideals, Sing, then ; 
sing ! ’’ 

Be glad, little toilers, in the shop and out 
of it. You must be if you keep your heart 
attuned to God’s holy law. Hum, as the 
wheels buzz on. Sing the years away, and, 
when your toiling is over, may you be ad- 
mitted into the Court of Heaven where 
music never dies. 


839 


Mbat paprtba XTbe ffmp 2)ib^ 


TOBACCO. 

Far down in the bowels of the earth, where, 
they say, there is an immense furnace with 
roaring flames, and where all the green fire, 
and fumes and noise are made to supply little 
boys with Fourth of July combustibles, an 
imp with the tart name Paprika, held sway 
some tv^renty score years ago. Learned men 
versed in infernal things, have for many a 
decade been bothering their brains in re- 
search, to find out for certain whether Old 

Pap ” was a union imp, (that is belonging 
to the confraternity of Beelzebub,) or whether 
he was an upstart, or, as the young Knight 
of Labor would say, a scab.’’ I cannot 
state clearly, just now, what has been the 
outcome of their banterings. Suffice it to 
say, that the wicked old spirit around whom 
my story is to centre, bethought himself one 
day to leave his castle (if you can call it 
such), with a legion of satellites and come to 
earth, with the avowed plan, of enclosing all 
souls to his iron will. Well, did you ever? 
How did he proceed, pray ? Just as you 
3-iO 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP DID. 


might suppose a wily old fox would do. He 
went through the smoldering caverns of the 
lower regions, and chased those little prong- 
tailed fellows, who were known to be the 
most hideous of feature and hypnotic of eye. 
He stood them like clothes-pins against the 
walls of his castle and harangued them as a 
police-captain usually does his men before 
they start out on their beats. 

“ My valiant ones,” quoth he, our power, 
as you know, is without restraint or limit 
here below. Reptiles, dragons, yumyums 
and the like, crouch at our approach. Since 
our authority is so resistless, why not expand 
our domain, and sweeping around the surface 
of the earth, bring all creatures under our 
thumbs ? ” Old Paprika was an expansionist, 
wasn’t he ? 

^^Thy words, 0 lordly one, are wisdom 
itself,” said the imps in unison, like a class 
at school. The wicked old tormentor now 
switched his scaly tail around in a way that 
told that some desperate deed was nearing 
the exploding point. He grasped his trident, 
and began muttering some weird monosyl- 
lables, which were taken up in turn by the 
little flat-nosed rascals. Suddenly, the roof 
seemed to lift itself from the cave, and lo ! 
a spiral shaft opened and wiggled itself up 
to the face of the earth. By this happening 
dil 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


you see, the pesky demons were given the 
accommodation of an up-to-date elevator. 
My ! what a scramble there was for the first 
trip upwards ! Yea, quicker than you could 
shoot peas out of a pod were these little spit- 
fires thrown above the horizon. They rained 
down by the thousands on the peaceful brow 
of Mother Earth. So they did. And just 
as you may suppose, they began to look for 
fight with the children of the glen like the 
spunky ” youngsters on the block. 

Well, they didn’t have to look very long, 
or go very far, for know you in that part of 
the world, in those epochs, little warriors 
fully armed were as thick as flies. Scarcely 
two minutes had passed before the army of 
the imps, and that of the little braves, were 
swinging their swords most wickedly. Who 
won ? Wait, till I tell you. The sturdy 
little sons of earth, seemed to have struck 
terror into their assailants from the start. 
For really, before you could shine your shoes, 
the stocky followers of Paprika, were flee- 
ing in disorder into the yawning mouth of 
the shaft, like boys diving in swimming, so 
scared were they. Last, but not least, Old 
Pap ” went tumbling down to his den a much 
battered imp. 

Well, like all defeated champions, I sup- 
pose that for some days, consolation meetings 
342 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP DID. 


were held, and the old wise ones told how 
different things might have been, if their 
suggestions had been carried out. However, 
the wounded imps seemed to spring back to 
their wonted buoyant spirits, in an incredibly 
short time. One morning an old philo- 
sophical hobgoblin began to dance about as 
though he were skipping on hot coals. I 
have an idea, brothers,” he shouted, listen.” 
“ I thought you had a fit by the way you 
pranced about,” said old Paprika, with a sour 
face. By the trident of Pluto,” the old 
chap went on spinning his yarn, we can 
change ourselves into pipers, we will ascend 
again to the fair land, and stalk through hill 
and dale, casting as we go, a spell on the sons 
of men, and thus lead them enchanted down 
to our pit, ha ! ha ! 

O thou of shining face,” all made answer 
solemnly, ^^hy brain forsooth is wonder- 
ful.” Well, not to waste too many words in 
needless trifles, let me say, that a second ex- 
pedition of conquest was soon filing out of 
the shaft, like lazy smoke from a factory 
chimney. This time, no less than fifty thou- 
sands little vagabonds stood ready with tiny 
bagpipes flung across their shoulders, to 
woo the sons of earth under their power. 
My ! how they did blow those wheezy ” 
pipes, and how their cheeks did puff out ! 0, 
3^3 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


I thought they would burst sure ! W ell, now 
comes the question. Did the children of 
Earth fall victims to the weird piping ? No ! 
no ! old Mother Earth, had bright sons in 
those days. By their keen eyes, they divined 
that the horde were only the old enemies in 
different guise. So, rising up with buckler 
and sword, they smote their invaders mightily 
again, who seeing that they were outwitted, 
scurried to the head of the shaft and dove in 
like little Jacks in the box. In this flight 
they dropped their pipes. These, the sons 
of Earth albeit could not use, for they re- 
mained ever and anon, red hot. 

Now, I suppose you think that after this 
second defeat, these young devils stayed in 
their proper domain. Nay, not so ! Old 
Paprika, twitted by two successive defeats, 
seemed bent on ruling things now more than 
ever. Stubborn old mogul, wasn’t he ? So, 
after many days’ retirement, the old war-horse, 
came out of his retreat, and with envy flash- 
ing from his every feature, he said : Bro- 

ther demons, hear ye all my bidding,” and 
his subjects all flopping on their faces did 
harken of course. “ Again by the wondrous 
trident of Pluto, I will fain turn you all into 
Jackdaws. Then you can fly over the bosom 
of earth, and pick up the seeds from the fur- 
rows, then no crops shall spring up, and the 
344 : 


What paprika the imp did. 


sons of Earth shall crumble, faint and die, 
and we shall rule.” “ Yes, we shall rule ! ” 
echoed the chorus. 

The old war-horse was certainly impetuous. 
So without waiting for his subjects to fix 
their faces, he moved the magic fork, and 
sure as you live, fifty thousand jackdaws be- 
gan fluttering out of the spiral shaft, like 
pigeons from a barn. They swept down to 
skim along the furrows, and pick the life- 
giving seeds, when — what do you think ? A 
son of Mother Earth passing with a blunder- 
buss over his shoulder, seeing the wicked 
birds, took aim and fired. How many did 
he kill ? Like most hunters, he killed none 
of the old Jacks, but he scared them to death, 
so they all flew off, and so down the grimy 
shaft again. On close inspection now it was 
seen, that the lad with the blunderbuss had 
done a little damage after all, for some of 
the birds were minus a tail, other some had 
no feathers on at all ; of course they flapped 
their wings when they got home, and begged 
to be turned into their original forms again, 
and by the trident of Pluto, they were. 

Wouldn’t you think, now, that surely it 
would dawn on the mind of old Paprika,” 
that in trying to throw the earth into thral- 
dom, he was attempting something beyond 
his scope ? But no — devils and mules are 
345 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


mucli alike, they are balky. To be sure, the 
old fossil tried no longer to subject Mother 
Earth and her sons by force of arms. Being 
however, of a versatile mind, he rubbed his 
nose one day in thought, and muttered to 
himself like a boy doing a puzzle. Ah, now 
I have it. T will wend my way to the sur- 
face of earth again, myself alone. I will 
steal to the dale of the smoking B unyips. 
I will bribe them by my string of opals, to 
scamper through the land and befog the 
minds of the sons of earth by their fumes. 
Then will I roll my evil eye on them.” 

As he spoke, so did Paprika the Wicked. 
By moonlight, he stole into the glen of Hun- 
lup, the stronghold of puffing B unyips, who 
are related, so they say, to Beelzebub. By 
his parleying and wiles our old enemy at last 
swung the wills of the little forest men into 
his own. Well! well! For a thousand 
shiney opals, and two horns of infernal pow- 
der, we will enslave the sons of Mother Earth 
said the Sheik of the Bunyips. 

When the sun popped up on the morrow, 
they began their trail, to ensnare the little 
men of earth. Wouldn’t I laugh if they 
were routed like the imps were ! Well, wait 
and see. Over craggy mountains, and along 
ravines did the horde of little enchanters now 
sweep. Each one looked like a tiny steam 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP HID. 


engine, so thickly did the smoke roll from 
the little wooden pipes. In less than an hour 
they were standing before the granite gates 
of Zubdum, the chief city of the world in 
those days. To arms ! cried the lynx- 
eyed picket on the rampart-top. His single 
cry woke into action twenty-seven thousand 
young warriors, yea the very ones who hut 
y ester-morn, had chased the wicked sprites 
away in disgraceful defeat. 

The small army of Bunyips now stood 
placidly watching the on-rushing swordsmen. 
Yes, they stood — but pulling the while 
vigorously at their pipes they almost shut 
out the sun with their fumes. The nar- 
cotic odor began gradually to steal into the 
nostrils of the sons of Zubdum. 

Startling was the effect. At the first 
whiff, all dropped their pikes and javelins, 
and opening wide their mouths began to 
inhale more and more of the fragrant smoke. 
This seemed to turn them all completely 
daffy. O, how funny ! Each little soldier 
began hopping up and down like a jumping- 
jack, shouting as he did the monotonous 
rhyme. Ko, ka, che lunk, che lunk, che 
lunk.” Which means in their jargon : 

We know we’re acting foolish, but we can’t 



SHORT TALKS TO YOtTNG TOILERS. 


men, for now and then, they would burst 
into loud shouts of glee. But as the hours 
wore on and it began to dawn on their 
minds, that they were really under a spell, 
they changed their note of merriment to one 
of piteous whining. The burden of their 
whine, alas, was the same as before Ko, 
ka, die lunk, che lunk, che lunk.” ^^We 
know we’re acting foolish, but we can’t seem 
to stop.” 

As happens to the little girl who skips 
rope too much, the hearts of the mites of 
warriors began to wabble and grow faint, 
O, mercy ! what were they to do ? If they 
could not stop this strenuous sort of exercise, 
they certainly would all soon be lying dead 
on the plains. Each one looked now at his 
brother in mute despair. At last Phideas, 
whose father was a bird-charmer, and, by the 
way, had often trimmed the feathers of 
Phoenix the Beautiful, began to implore this 
noble bird, whose wings were mighty, to 
come and drive away the fumes that were fast 
bringing so many thousands to an untimely 
end. 0 joy ! it seemed now as if Phoenix 
had caught the piteous plea of Phideas, for 
he fluttered by and released him from the 
charm. So that the poor little men stopped 
prancing and shouting the monotonous 
rhyme. All the others, however, kept on 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP DID. 


with their killing dance and song, 
ka, che lunk, die lunk, che lunk.’’ We 
know we’re acting silly, but we can’t seem 
to stop.” At last, just as night was coming 
on, as though she was a huge death-pall, an 
army of ravens, led by the proud Phoenix, 
swept over the hills cawing and flopping 
their wings with rapidity. This, by some 
unseen power, seemed to create a howling 
sirocco, which hurried over hill and plain like 
a mighty storm. Nothing seemed able to 
withstand its force. It overturned castles, 
uprooted trees, lashed the billows into fury, 
and raised the mischief generally. Glad am 
I to say, as you might have guessed, it blew 
the pesky fumes of the Bunyips, far, far 
away into Hindostan. Not only that, but 
it carried the little tormentors themselves 
back to their weird land. 

Of a sudden a calm came. The little soldier 
men ceased their whining and hopping, 
and sat down almost exhausted. 0 great 
Yumyum, they sighed we know how at last 
to cast off the spell. 0, gratitude be ever 
to Phoenix ! ” After a brief rest, the sons 
of Mother Earth, with ire in their eyes, 
rushed to the head of the spiral shaft, and 
said, 0 ye destroyers of bliss and peace, 
you shall be ever hence shackled to your 
denS; SQ they, expert engineers that they 
349 


SHORT TALKS TO YOL'XG TOILERS. 


were, fashioned a huge cork from the twisted 
bark of eighty-three elm trees and pushed it 
into the throat of the shaft, and to this day, 
the imps of that particular region below never 
bothered the sons of Earth again. Wicked 
imps ! 

Now, my good hoys, I suppose, as is my 
wont, it is time for me to play the moralist, 
and apply at least one pha^ of my story 
to you. I can picture some of you little 
tender-hearted chaps almost weeping as you 
dwelt upon that sad plight of the little men, 
when they were at the mercy of the nasty 
little Bunyips. Well, do you know, I too 
feel very downcast when I see in our time 
so many youngsters falling victims to the 
killing fumes of tobacco and becoming slaves 
to Princess Nicotine. Here, then, I have 
reached my text at last. I am going to 
talk as eloquently as I can to you, against 
the use of that filthy weed, tobacco. That 
uncouth habit of puffing fumes into the air, 
like the httle savages used to do years ago. 
There was a time, and it isn’t so long ago, 
when smoking tobacco was a solace enjoyed 
solely by the old folks, and then in temper- 
ate form. I suppose it soothed them and 
gave them a great deal of solid comfort. 
Well and good. Lord bless their whitened 
old heada. But now in our liberal day, 
350 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE EVIP DID. 


that will brook no restraint, bow pitiable it is 
to see young buxom fair-faced boys, taking to 
use of tobacco, when they know it must 
work such lasting ruin to their health. 

I am not a grumbler, I assure you, boys. 
I do not hold that everything in this world 
is tinged with evd. But, as I claim the 
right to talk to you, I want to warn you 
against one ruinous practice, that, I know, is 
fettering your very souls, as it stealthily 
plucks the bloom from your cheeks. 

Is smoking a sin ? I think it is for young 
boys. The continuance of any practice that 
will in time sap your health away, is as- 
suredly a sin. Besides, the use of tobacco 
is a habit that has had its birth amongst 
rude and savage people. 

Who were the first to use this poisonous 
weed? We learn from history, that it was 
the Orientals and latterly the savage Indians. 
Do you feel proud of yourselves, when you 
know that in using tobacco, you lower your- 
selves to the level of uncouth savages ? 
Assuredly you have no reason so to feel. 

As you saunter past a cigar store some 
day, turn your gaze thereunto, and you will 
behold a savage, with hideous grimace, and 
tomahawk in hand standing in pose near the 
sidewalk. Whenever you see one of these 
shocking specimens, you know a tobacco 
351 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


store is nigli. Why so ? Because this sav- 
age is only a true exponent of the ware that 
is sold within, and only those with uncul- 
tured tastes ever enter that door beside 
which that ugly old statue stands guard. I 
may further speak of other types of the 
tobacco habit. You pass farther up the 
way, your timid soul is almost startled, as 
there looms up before you a giant Oriental, 
with loose flowing gown — who looks as if 
he had escaped from the pages of the 
‘^Arabian Nights.’’ His face is yellowish 
and flabby. His eyes are dull and sensuous. 
This, forsooth, is another expressive proto- 
type of the art of smoking. Alas ! in other 
emporiums the young habitue finds spread 
out to view, chromos and photos so wanting 
in decency, that any good boy would blush 
to be seen beholding them. Are these the 
places that little soldiers of Christ should 
enter ? No ! never. I fancy now, I hear 
some spunky little chap speak up and say : 

0, Father, you don’t argue logically. 
These store signs, we admit, may not be very 
elevating, yet we do not enter the tobacco 
store to gaze at these exhibits, we go simply 
to buy a pack of cigarettes, or as the case 
may be, a little pipe.” Very well, my young 
friend, but, do you know, that in no other 
housQ of trade; will you see held up to view 
352 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP DID. 


the suggestive prints and cards that seem 
now-a-days to be an essential decoration for 
a tobacco shop. These wily old dealers 
know the things that pander to the lusts of 
youth, and many of them play their cards 
only too well. Again, you plucky little 
chaps retort, But the doctor says, temper- 
ate smoking is good for many ills.” Very 
good, it may be. When the doctor spoke, 
however, he had in his audience only fully 
grown men of hardihood. You are still 
striplings or saplings, and as you cannot 
as yet fill a man’s coat, neither must you 
aspire to men’s privileges. You little cod- 
gers know as well as I, how many boys, 
even as you, are slaves to the cigarette habit; 
whose hearts are dominated by that little 
Princess Nicotine, very much as were the 
sons of Earth by the fumes of the B unyips. 
She waves her sceptre and they foolishly 
dance to her tune ; yea, frequently dance 
themselves into an untimely grave. Any 
thorough physician will tell you, that in all 
tobacco at the present time there is a very 
large percentage of drugs, such as morphine, 
opium, and the like. The vicious efPects of 
these narcotics, blended with the innocent 
looking cigarette, will soon gain the mastery 
over your wills, and once you become bonded 
in slavery — God help you. 

23 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


You all have some budding little ambi- 
tions, now in your blossoming years. I 
know you have. You are not going to be 
drudges always. In the bright sky of pros- 
pect, that smiles above you, one sees the 
vision of being an able lawyer. Another 
aims at becoming a thorough physician, and 
other some, perhaps, hear already the faint 
whisper from the Master’s lips, Come, fol- 
low me. Enter into my vineyard, and 
preach the gospel of charity to the world.” 
May your yearnings be realized some day, 
little friends ! Let me say, however, that 
you will never, never, accomplish anything 
noteworthy within the mental or physical 
world, if now in your youthful times, you 
allow yourselves to become “ dulled ” by the 
deadly fumes of the pipe or the cigarette. 
Think that over. 

Take up your list of men who are doing 
great things in the world of letters, or relig- 
ion, or politics, to-day, and I vow you will 
find few indeed amongst them who in their 
years of development ever touched the 
deadly tobacco. 

I Let me give you a few facts to show you 
■what a deathlike grasp the obnoxious weed 
has had, and still has, on the wills of men. 
From an old book of statistics dated 1880 1 
learn the following facts. About the year 


WHAT PAPRIKA THE IMP DID. 


1584 the use or rather the abuse of tobacco 
became so widespread in Britain, that a law 
was passed against its use within the confines 
of the kingdom. One hundred years after 
that, Charles the Second stopped its growth 
and cultivation altogether. Pope Urban in 
1625 forbade the use of tobacco by any one 
connected with his household, under the 
severest penalties. Like laws, so I read, 
were framed in Spain. I wish Our govern- 
ment, our President, who is such a splen- 
did type of vigorous American manhood, 
would make it illegal for boys to touch, taste 
or use tobacco in any form. Ill bet he’ll do 
it some day. Just think ! In one year over 
eight billion pounds of the deadly leaf 
were grown in the United States alone. 
Which was nearly ten pounds apiece for 
every man, woman, and child then in the 
country. Men who make accurate statistics 
tell us, that the amount of money spent 
annually in this country for smoking is 
close to six millions of dollars. That would 
be, I think, twelve dollars for each man, 
woman, and child in the land. 

When you reckon the vast amount of 
good this money could accomplish if turned 
to a worthy purpose, you will not wonder 
why we reprobate the use of cigarettes, and 
suchlike, especially for you young folks. 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Mark this well, my little toilers. For those 
who have reached their majority, for those 
who are full-grown men, a little smoke now 
and then, may not be harmful. You young 
folks, however, are yet in the formative pe- 
riod, as smart men would say, and many 
things that are licit for your elders, are with- 
held from you because of their baneful 
effects. I would have you grow up, clean, 
tidy, intelligent young Catholic gentlemen, 
spurning anything that might debase you in 
any way. Clench your little fists now with 
determination and declare that a cigarette, 
or a speck of tobacco, will not touch your 
lips until you shall have reached your ma- 
jority, your full development. You will then 
blossom into hardy men with nerves of steel 
and hearts strong and steady. These two 
things you need nowadays to be successful 
in the world whether you be artisan or artist. 
Down with Princess Nicotine. Drive smoking 
B unyips into their dens where they belong, 
and keep them there. 


356 


trbc ^15 ScbooUbottS^. 

ADVANCE YOURSELVES. 

For one who has drifted into sterner years, 
what a flood of blessed memories is put in 
motion, by the mere mention of the sacred 
words, The old School-house.” Ah ! it 
carries back, with the rapidity of light, even 
the old man, feebled and gray, to the scenes 
of his boyhood, and causes a faint smile to 
flit across his dried features. He hears 
again the echoes of warm boyish laughter, 
from voices that have been long since 
stilled by death’s cold hand. He fancies he 
sees, too, the ruddy cheeks of Billy or Jack, 
his old chums, alive with all the pulse of 
bygone days, — when, forsooth, they are gone, 
long, long ago. 

And, not the least of happy recollections, 
comes before him the picture of boyish 
pranks that caused so many taunting laughs 
only to be followed like the small tragedy 
with the torture scene, the licking.” I say, 
for all, be they tarrying near the brink of 
the grave, and looking back with forlorn 
357 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


glance, or be they just hardening into the 
set frame of manhood or womanhood, I 
say it is good for us all to pause betimes, in 
the mad rush through life, and sit in the cool 
shade, and look athwart the years to childhood 
days — to the old School-house, the old play- 
ground, the loving face of the teacher, 
and live again the golden hours that have 
passed beyond the everlasting hills. 

It is not so long since I felt this holy 
thrill. While on a visit to my mother. Lord 
rest her, we spoke of the days when I was 
one of the boys,” and of my incurable 
proneness to play hookey.” The trend of 
our talk naturally curled about old St. Mary’s 
and The Point.” 

Of a sudden my angel whispered to me, 
that it might be good for me to go, and 
look on the old fortress ” again. So I 
bowed to the beguiling of the blessed one, 
and started off. It had been long, very long, 
since my feet had pattered in that direction, 
so, whatever change had come over the old 
highway caught my fancy on the spot. I 
was pleased, I tell you, beyond my telling, 
to note that things in general had balked 
at the onrush of civilization, and had re- 
mained in the flight of eighteen years 
pretty much as they were when I was a 
youngster.” 


358 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


There was the old pump in front of the 
Milkman’s house/’ whose hospitable old 
arm (the pump’s) we, time and again, had 
pulled out of its socket, by our vigorous 
tugs, then caught the crystal stream in our 
cupped ” hands, and so cooled our dusty 
little throats. Around the bend, by Dillon’s, 
the old iron bridge stretched its stiff back 
across the street. In the days of old, how 
we would ^^lick it” to that bridge, as we 
caught sight of a train coming down the 
line. W e would hurry to the vibrating iron 
bars, and fancy we were having a ride. 

On I walked, and the old saw-mill was 
buzzing the same old tune as of yore, as the 
little wonder-faces looked on at the awful 
spectacle of logs being decapitated. 

I now turned the old corner by the cherry 
tree. The scaly old arms of my childhood 
friend seemed to spread awide at my com- 
ing, and I thought I could hear the faint 
whisper, Glad to see you again,” move 
through the leaves. But I guess it was 
only the wind fooling me. I now stood on 
the very field where we used to beat the 
public schoolers,” at baseball, then swipe 
their bats as we said, “ They didn’t know how 
to use ’em.” 

I saw many geese and goslings grazing. 
Who knows ? Some of these old cluckers ” 
359 


SHORT TALKS TO YOtJKG TOILERS. 


might be the very ones we were wont to 
chuck stones at in bygone days ! However, 
they, one and all, looked at me with an air 
of Haven’t I seen you before ? ” I tipped 
my hat to many of the good old folks who 
stood leaning over the gates, and chatting 
about the childer,” work, etc. Pious old 
souls, God bless them ! In response to my 
merry Good morning, Mr. Kennedy ! ” I 
heard the hist ! ” and whisper, behind 
fingers, Isn’t that Freddy O’Neal, the 
little rascal, that was always up to tricks ?” 

Arrah, thin, it is, I’m sure,” came the an- 
swer in an amen tone. ^^He’s bin priested 
these eight years.” As this rapid-fire con- 
versation melted from my hearing, I blushed, 

They remember me — Guilty ” 

My eyes now fell on Old St. Mary’s, 
standing alone, abandoned by all her children. 
What a strange current of feeling shot 
through my frame. Have you never come 
suddenly upon a smiling face, whose gleam 
awes you, yet whose identity you cannot 
place just then ? My feelings were akin to 
this. There stood Old St. Mary’s, to whom 
I owe so much. She seemed in truth to 
put on her gladdest smile, as our gaze met. 
She was dressed still in her sombre robe. 
The old cupola pointed heavenward, as was 
its wont, but the aim now was a little erratic, 
360 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


The rude hands of many young vandals had 
ruthlessly pulled off her shutters, or with 
their mischievous pen-knives had cut queer 
figures into her aching sides. Still she was 
patient under it all. A gentle May breeze 
now curled about her skirts, and tossed frag- 
ments of paper into the air. My heart beat 
stronger, as I fancied I heard the voices of 
some of the boys who are gone, speaking to 
me with the glad call, Hello ’dere, fatty ! ” 
Alas ! it was only a fancy. 

I came closer to my old mother. Like a 
granny who has lost her teeth, the old dame 
had been deprived of many of her window 
panes by misguided shinnies,” of the kids. 
Her old fringe of a green and yellow fence 
left only a few delegates of shaky form. 
How I recall swiping some of those sturdy 
pickets, when, through lack of funds, we had 
no bats for the game. 

My line of vision, having lifted from the 
fence, naturally it fell on the rickety old 
candy-shop of Mrs. Mullaney, basking in the 
sunlight across the way (I mean the shop). 
Good old candy-shop ! How often did 1 
steal over to you at recess-time, with my 
penny squeezed so tightly in my palm, that it 
left its impress there. How often did I, 
with suave and tactful words, tease your 
good old proprietress to give me the biggest 

m 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


chunk of taffy. How often, in the winter- 
time, did I warm my back on your broad 
shutters, against which the morning sun so 
generously spread its heat. Indeed your 
name was then on the tongue of every taffy- 
loving lad and lassie on the block. Now 
that we have grown away from you, we will 
throw back blessed memories about you. 
Just here, I started, as I thought I felt the 
breath of a spirit breathing into my face. I 
turned, and lo, an old man, with bent form, 
passed by. His hat had seen more elegant 
surroundings than those in which it now 
lived. It had crowned, no doubt at one 
time, the flaxen hair of some swell youth. 
With musical click the old cane struck the 
walk in harmony with the jerky feeble step. 
The old man of whom I speak, was whis- 
tling an old tune that gave birth doubtless 
to memories of Fadderland across the 
sea.” 

This was my clue. I said to myself, It’s 
Dutch Johnny. I must look at him, ex- 
change a few words with him.” When I 
drew abreast of the old tad,” however, I 
saw I was mistaken. I found courage enough 
to halt the old figure, and query of him, if 
he had ever known Dutch Johnny.” The 
old gray eyes, growing a little moist, peered 
^t me a moment, then the feeble old voice 
30 ^ 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


said slowly, softly, Ya, he’s dead, ’long 
while.” 

Heaven rest you, poor old Johnny, patient 
martyr to the whims of us boys. How we 
used to tease you, but never rudely. We 
loved to excite you into a tirade, just to hear 
the queer squeak to your voice, and to catch 
the delightful echo of your Dutch accent. 
But we never pelted you with snowballs. 
If any one rascal did dare so to do, his act 
would be met with the disapproval of the 
^‘gang.” Hey, quit that! Don’t soak 
Johnny. He’s a nice old feller.” So you, 
too, have passed away. Another familiar 
figure of Old St. Mary’s is no more. 

I could go on forever, so it seems, pictur- 
ing to you the scenes that clustered about 
my old school home, but it dawns on me 
now that some of you little rascals may be 
muttering “ Oh, ring off 1 ” Bear with me a 
few lines more. I hurried back to the old 
School-house. It was growing dusk. I tried 
several of the old doors. Their backs, I 
trow, had not bent in many years. They 
were all locked, so I crept to an obscure side 
of the wall. An open window gaped at me. I 
stepped through it. Heavens 1 my head 
reeled, I was standing again in my old class- 
room. I did not catch the musical voice of 
the children hurrying through the rhymes. 

363 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


I did not hear the stirring voice of Sister 
Marie dressing down ’’ the class for some 
misdeed. No, all was still as the grave. 
The desks had departed. The holy pictures 
and statues, had gone away. My dear old 
seat-mate I could not see. I grew half afraid, 
as the night crept closer. Would some of 
my departed class-mates, take advantage of 
the darkness, and come and speak to me ? 
I feared. I was now drawn to the wall, as a 
steel-filing to the magnet. My eyes fell upon 
a cluster of scratches. I now realized that I 
stood on the very spot about which I moved 
as a boy. 

A kindly gleam of light now fell upon 
the wall. I saw the very initials of my name, 
that my unruly httle fingers had carved. I 
recall the lickin’ ” I got for this. 

At last, just as full darkness spread over 
me, faces half-forgotten, in the swing of 
years, peered at me from every side of the 
room. I was now almost terror-stricken, like 
one imprisoned in a haunted house. I 
seemed to cry out even against my will : 

Come back ! 0 boys of my youth, let us 
live again even for a passing hour the 
happiest scenes of life.” No answer came 
to my stifled cry. 

Then the thought sped through my mind. 

Where are the old boys to-night ? ” my 
364: 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


thoughts traveled in every direction like 
feathers before the wind. The lad who 
could swat homers,” when we tackled the 
public-schoolers, was now an esteemed city 
official. The little pale-face had become a 
great inventor. The young hard case ” 
who, with all his faults, studied well, was 
now a stern, yet merciful judge. The “ chap ” 
who used to coax the cat into the room, was 
now getting a good salary as a cartoonist. 
Others, but not many, I say with a sad heart, 
have hurried down the road of swift wreck 
and ruin. 

I was so entranced, I could not move for 
a long time. The nervous flash of the 
electric-light on the wall stirred me from my 
dream. So I climbed out of the window and 
walked up the quiet street. I turned back 
now and then, as one would to a departing 
friend. The body of the building had 
sunken into the night. The spire, however, 
I could still plainly see. There was a halo 
about its head. I knew that it was the wan- 
dering reflection of some street-lamp, yet, I 
could not suppress the vague feeling that it 
may have been the gleam from the radiant 
features of some of Old St. Mary’s sainted 
teachers, many of whom in the flight of 
years had been called home to rest. Why 
should I be blamed for thinking that on that 
365 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


night they were smiling down on the hoary 
head of the old school, and blessing the 
young rascal who, in a spirit of pure loyalty, 
had wandered back to say farewell to the old 
mother who was so good to him in his tender 
years. 

The strange thought has often come to me 
since : How is it that some of the sons and 
daughters of the old school have become 
such shining examples of industry and thrift, 
while others have been swept along by gale 
and torrent, into wreck and ruin ? Can you 
guess the riddle ? Let me try, if you can’t. 

Those who are now enjoying the esteem 
of their fellow-men, those who hold high 
places in the mercantile or professional world, 
were, in days of boyhood, possessed of a gritty 
determination, to be something. They ob- 
served, even as youngsters (true philosophers 
that they were), that if one must succeed in 
life, and lift himself above the wretched 
plain of drudgers,” he must begin, even as 
the builder, by laying the foundation in 
school-days. They saw how their good 
fathers and mothers had to toil, and they 
resolved, we will not be slaves as they.” So, 
what did they do ? They said, W e’re olf. 
We’ll begin to fit our brains, and equip our- 
selves with that learning and discipline that 
will, of necessity, land us at the top. So, 
366 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


when school-days were over, they went out 
with their tiny guns on their shoulders, scout- 
ing for positions. Did they all fall to the 
level of plodders ? No ! no ! They felt 
they were fit ’’ as the athletes call it. 
They grasped the first chance and made the 
most of it. They were ever faithful to duty. 
So they sailed on, year after year nearer the 
goal of their ambitions, just as the young 
lad on skates is helped along the ice by the 
obliging wind, for which he holds his coat 
awide, just to get a push. 

I fancy I hear some little grumblers ” 
along the line. One young pouter speaks 
up and says : ^^It’s all very well. Father, for 
you to speak of the good fortune, that laid 
itself before some boys and girls, like a roll 
of velvety carpet. But we had no such good 
fortune. We were put to work early in life, 
before we knew aught of the fine points of 
arithmetic, or any of those frilled ^ ologies ’ 
that high-collared boys and girls cram into 
their heads.” That is all true, young friends, 
and I admire your aggressive spirit. Then 
let me cut the cloth to fit your forms. 

Supposing, as you say, you were taken 
from school at thirteen, and hustled into a 
factory by the raspy hand of necessity. 
Does that mean that a life-sentence of im- 
prisonment has been placed against you? 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


Does it mean that you are to waste your lives 
in the stuffy room of a factory, and never 
look beyond the dismal street on which it is 
located ? No ! no ! nothing of the kind ! 
There’s where I score a hit against you. 
Look at many of our eminent men and 
women noted in the world of religion, med- 
icine or letters to-day. Were they, as 
youngsters, reared on Huyler’s mixed ” and 
given velvet slippers to wear ? No, indeed, 
a very large per cent of them were boys and 
girls who had little or no schooling, who 
had to hustle for themselves, because cruel 
fate took from them in their tender years, 
the father and mother on whom they could 
have otherwise leaned. 

Coming right down to you boys and girls 
personally, ‘‘ hitting the nail on the head,” 
I do say that many of you are mere slaves 
(I don’t mean to wound your feelings). 
Your life is one of monotonous grind. 
‘‘ But are we responsible for our condition 
of life ? ” you sigh. In a great measure you 
are. Most of you are wonderfully bright, if 
you only knew it. Why, then, be content 
to droll along like the old ox, satisfied simply 
with making a living. Look up, youngsters ! 
Aim higher ! You have the quick brains of 
your royal parentage, their stout hearts. 

What then do I advise you to do ? To 
368 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


seek that form of employment that is termed 
nice or genteel ? To wear natty ” clothes, 
and shudder at soiling your hands ? No, no, 
little friends, nor do I encourage you all 
to aim at becoming professional men and 
women. I would like, however, to see my 
young friends, who cannot embrace a pro- 
fessional career, become skilled’^ artisans 
of some type. Aim to become, you boys, 
machinists, carpenters, electricians, some trade 
that calls as much for the exercise of brains, 
as of muscle. And you girls, be as wise for 
yourselves. I am not familiar enough with 
feminine occupations to advise you intelli- 
gently, but make some effort to get out of 
the buzz and grind ’’ that kills. Strive, 
too, to become top-notchers ” in your re- 
spective callings. 

“ If I were a cobbler 
I would make it my pride 
The best of all cobblers to be ; 

And were I a tinker 
No tinker beside, 

Should mend an old kettle like me.” 

I hear some little rascal retorting, and 
saying, But, Father, work of the slavish 
character must be done. Who then will do 
it ? ’’ Not you little rogues. Many of your 
fathers, by cruel fate, were the swingers of 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


the pick. You owe it to them, and to your 
family pride, to be something higher, and 
you can, if you will use your splendid little 
noddles.’’ There was never a time, when 
there was more urgent demand for bright 
boys and girls, who are anxious to learn 
trades and professions, than the present. 
Then, too, there are distinctively new trades 
and professions, coming into life every day, 
called forth by the advancing times. Wake 
up ! Get into the race ! 

What’s that I hear you say? You’re 
too young yet.” Gracious ! when do you 
expect to begin ? when your hair is turning 
gray ? Why, some wonderful things have 
been done by youngsters of your age. Alex- 
ander Pope, the great poet, was only twelve, 
when he wrote his poem, “Ode to Solitude,” 
a composition that startled the literary world. 
He was a poor young boy, who had to toil 
at times even as hard as you. The noted 
Irish actor and dramatist, John O’Keefe, of 
whom our fathers are proud, was an elocu- 
tionist of wonderful pathos, at sixteen, 
Thomas Macaulay, the brilliant historian 
and essayist, was only twelve when he pub- 
lished his first volume, “ Primitise ” and as 
you boys would term it, it was “ all right.” 

But why need I bring up examples so far 
back. Within the coterie of your own ac- 
370 


THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 


quaintances, you spot ’’ some little codgers, 
here and there, who are dusting ” on to the 
goal of success, like little rabbits through 
the bushes. They’ll ‘^get there,” I’ll bet. 

And here you are, many of you, content 
to drift along like a clump of sea-weed, on 
the dreaming tide, until you are borne out 
into the sea of obscurity. Be ambitious with 
the right kind of ambition ! Be something ! 
Let the country hear from you. See in the 
‘‘ ad ” column of our best magazines and re- 
spectable daily journals, chances for live 
young folks that stand out there like berries 
on a bush waiting to be picked. “ Pluck 
’em and pluck ’em quick.” Shake off your 
hum-drum existence. Take the advice of 
older heads, who have been through the 
mill.” They can point out the shoals to you. 
Add piety to pluck and you have success 
without fail. Game is called ! Go it now ! 


3Y1 


tlbe ]£metalb IFsle* 


Instead of telling you a story in this 
chapter, young friends, I am going to ask you 
to come with me on a little trip. Whenever 
you have read fairy tales, your young lim- 
pid thoughts have fluttered off ever so far, 
and when the story was over, you told your 
young friends, that you had just made a 
journey to Wonderland. Now, it is a trip 
of this sort that I propose taking you on to- 
day. Let us say we have finished our voyage 
over the broad Atlantic. On a bright 
morning we catch sight of many dark green 
hills that seem to be just rousing from 
slumber. Our fairy ship moves on, and the 
loveliness of the isle grows upon us. We 
see the trees and flowers being swayed to 
and fro by the zephyr’s gentle touch. 
Placid lakes here and there stud the land 
like glittering diamonds. The brooks come 
dancing over the white pebble beds, as 
though glad to sing you a welcome. If you 
harken, you can hear the soft warbling of 
the birds as they flit across the fragrant 
meadows. See in the distance the fields of 
372 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


golden grain that bend gracefully to the 
breath of summer. In the very atmosphere 
there is an air of peace and quiet that would 
seem to tell you of its nearness to heaven. 
On many hillsides the vine-clad ruins of 
abbeys and chapels gape at you vacantly, 
and as the breeze sighs away, it becomes 
laden with the memories of days when these 
decrepit walls resounded with the mingled 
chant of the Gaul, the Piet, the Scot, and the 
Roman. But, alas ! many centuries have 
passed, only to find them mute and sorrowful. 
In viewing all these inspiring things, I am 
sure your young hearts swell with a national 
feeling and with the praise of the Creator, 
and you exclaim with the Psalmist, How 
beautiful are thy works, 0 Lord.” 

Where is this land of fairy-lore ? Is it a 
phantom isle, a home for delicate nymphs 
and sprightly gnomes ? No ! It is a land 
whence many of our parents sprang. I 
speak of Erin the sainted daughter of the 
sea. A beautiful country, then, is Erin, not 
alone in her landscapes but especially in her 
legends and history. 

Of course there is not room in my little 
book for all the sweet and noble things that 
may be said of Erin. You must list, however, 
to some that must surely interest you. 

For many, many centuries she was ^ 

373 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


powerful and cultured nation. Even before 
the light of the true faith dawned on her 
like a radiant morn, her children were far 
advanced in civilization. Still more, they 
were making rapid strides in many of the 
arts, such as music and poetry, when her 
sister nations were still slumbering in igno- 
rance and barbarity. Thoiighout the neigh- 
boring lands in those days, the bloody warrior, 
the skilled halberdier were held to be the 
ones most deserving of honor and esteem. In 
Erin, the young bard, the venerable Druid 
priest, the sweet voiced minstrel received the 
love and admiration of the people. Even 
the mere stripling who could sing and play 
sweetly was welcomed by king and serf alike. 
Yes, this love of melody is bred in the very 
marrow and sinew of the Irish. You cannot 
conquer the Celtic soul by harshness and 
cruelty. It will turn on its oppressor with 
the fierceness of a tiger. But send a thrill 
of gentle melody trembling into the resolute 
soul, and see how quickly you will win it, — 
how readily all anger will fade away. Mark 
how soon the tear will glisten in the bright 
eye and the rigid features be melted again 
into a smile. My talk is a little serious for 
you, isn’t it ? W ell, listen, I will sing : 

“ Beautiful Isle of the Sea, 

Smile on the brow of its waters, 

374 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


Dear are your memories to me, 

Sweet as the songs of your daughters. 

Over your mountains and vales, 

Down by each murmuring river. 

Cheered by the sweet honeyed gales, 

O, I could wander forever ! 

Fountain of pleasure untold. 

Beautiful Isle of the Sea I 

“ Oft on your shell-girdled shore, 

Evening has found me reclining I 

Visions of youth dreaming o’er 

Down where the light-house was shining. 

Far from the gladness you gave. 

Far from all joys worth possessing. 

Still on the lone weary wave. 

Comes to the wanderer your blessing. 
Fountain of gladness untold. 

Beautiful Isle of the Sea ! 

Amongst the working boys and girls whose 
merry laughter sanctifies our hall every 
Monday evening, there is one little fellow, 
Tommy McGrane, by name, whom his com- 
panions style as the little harp,’’ for he is 
not long from the ould sod.” His young 
chums all crowd about him like bees about 
the clover-top, when he heaves in sight. 
Tommy is very poor. He works hard through 
the day. He has never had the blessing of 
a musical training. By endowment, however, 
he is a little songster — a bard. He sits 
modestly in the corner unwitting of his gifts. 
He is not long idle, however. Soon some 
375 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


melody-loving little maiden will go over 
coyly and tease the little idol into singing 
and playing on his harmonica. When he 
lifts his sweet voice in song, a strange restive 
spell settles over the crowd. Tommy has a 
strange tone of pathos to his voice. His 
favorite lay is The Old Violin.” This 
song he sings but seldom, but when he does, 
I see here and there tiny tears breaking 
through and glistening in many a blue eye. 
When I see this, I too am quite affected and 
I sigh, 0, who can say that the little 
Irish soul has lost the sweet breath of its 
forefathers ! The tones of the little minstrel 
do not die on the instant. They speed the 
thoughts of the listeners back through the 
sleeping years, to the time when the slender 
brother of the modern songster sang before 
the kings of Erin, and swayed their souls at 
will. Yes, Tommy McGrane can verily 
croon what the old folks would call a 
gann-tree ” as sweetly as any little lad that 
ever came from the heart of Erin. 

What a glorious period that must have 
been for Erin when even artisans and dairy- 
maids had a tune suited to his or her occu- 
pation. The plow-boy urged his horses 
with his mild and plaintive plow-whistle, 
and while the rosy-cheeked lasses drove 
home the kine to the milking bawns, they 

m ' 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


timed their steps to the notes of some sweet 
ditty. The smith, as he swung his ponder- 
ous hammer upon the heated steel, ran a tune 
in amongst the strokes and this seemed to 
lighten his labor. 

The following little story which, of course, 
is based on facts of history, will give you 
young folks some idea of the condition of 
Erin, when the Apostle Patrick came to her 
shores. I will not tell you how our saint, as a 
shepherd boy, was taken captive to Erin, and 
how gently he was treated by his masters. 
Rather will I tell you of a time when he 
landed on her coast as a holy Bishop. One 
calm day in spring, a frail little craft was 
seen to steer in from the sea. In it with 
some companions was the sainted Patrick. 
No doubt strange feelings swept through his 
soul as he looked again on the green fields, 
and thought that a few years before his little 
feet had moved over the soft carpeted hills 
in watching his flocks of sheep. Now he 
was coming to lead captive another fold, not 
of sheep, but of the people, to bend their necks 
to the yoke of Christ. 

You have heard, young friends, how in 
other lands missionaries were put to death. 
Not so in Erin. Not one drop of martyr’s 
blood was shed in leading her people to the 
gospel of Christ. When St. Patrick began 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


to preach, kings and people listened re- 
spectfully. One day, in telling of a mystery 
of faith to the throng, he stopped, and, pluck- 
ing a shamrock, held it aloft to give them a 
faint idea or symbol of the blessed Trinity. 
To this day that little sprig is held in rever- 
ence by the children of Erin throughout the 
world. When the Apostle had finished the 
discourse of that day, many thousands knelt 
at his feet to receive the sign of faith. As 
the sun throws its warmth amongst a field of 
flowers and calls into life their lurking loveli- 
ness, so, by the action of the rays of Divine 
Grace, did the souls of Erin’s sons and daugh- 
ters blossom forth into the sweetest of virtues. 
As the years rolled on, monasteries and col- 
leges crowned every hill and made holy every 
valley. Wherever the emerald standard 
floated, you could see also the cross of purest 
white. When the Apostle was called to his 
rest tears of unfeigned sorrow stood in the 
eyes of old and young alike. As mother 
earth folded her arms about him, even the 
children wailed Alas, our father is passed 
from us 1 ” 

For centuries, the nations of Western 
Europe looked up to Erin as to their teacher 
in science and letters. The Irish Masters, 
were ever gracious and kind. Their schools, 
usually built on the banks of some fair 
378 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


river, were thrown open — entirely free to 
students, who came from far-off countries. 
They were made happy, too, in their foreign 
home. At daybreak it was the custom to 
rise. Then over the soft grassy hills, they 
would wend their way to the chapel, min- 
gling as they went their voices in hymn 
and song. 

Here comes a story that, I hope, you will 
always retain. While I call it a story, I do 
not doubt it is founded in real truth. One 
of Erin’s rulers bethought himself one day 
to test the virtue, the gallantry of his people. 
Accordingly he caused a comely maiden to 
be arrayed in silken robe, and glittering 
pearls. Then he bade her go through the 
land on foot, along every highway, just to 
see if any hand would be raised to despoil 
her, or any lips be so vile as to say unholy 
things to her. So she set forth, this maiden 
so richly attired. By day she passed through 
the towns and villages, like a wanderer. 
At night, she lay down by the heather-bush, 
and rested her wearied form in slumber. 
The days came and went, and the weeks 
wore on. She met many who knew her not, 
who admired her tresses and train. A fair 
knight offered to be her companion by the 
way. But no hand raised to harm her, no 
sordid word fell upon her heart. We are 
379 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


told that as she neared her native castle, 
homeward bound, a cavalier from a far-off 
country stepped athwart her path to speak 
with her. The following little poem tells 
of their meeting. 

“ Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 

And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore ; 

But oh I her beauty was far beyond 
Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand. 

“ ‘ Maiden ! — dost thou not fear to stray, 

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way ? 

Are Erin’s sons so good or so cold 

As not to be tempted by woman or gold ? * 

“ ‘ Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm ; 

No son of Erin will offer me harm ; — 

For though they love women and golden store, 

Sir Knight ! they love honor and virtue more.* 

“ On she went, and her maiden smile 
In safety lighted her ’round the green isle ; 

And blest forever is she who relied 
Upon Erin’s honor, and Erin’s pride.” 

This is a refreshing little story, young 
friends, because it gives those of us who 
are offspring of an Irish parentage, some 
notion of the true Christian piety that 
blossomed in the land in those days, a piety 
which is yet a distinguishing feature of the 
Irish people. 

In nearly every century, since Patrick set 
foot on the emerald soil, men and women, 
380 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


knighted as saints, by the Church, have blos- 
somed on her bosom. I need not enumer- 
ate the long list of these servants of Christ, 
your little lips are as familiar with their 
names, as they are with your daily prayers. 

By what I have said this far, you can see 
that Erin was an intellectual, or civilizing 
power in Western Europe for many cen- 
turies. She called to her side the children 
of many nations, enlightened their minds, 
and put into their untutored hands the brush 
of the artist, the chisel of the sculptor, or 
the harp of the minstrel. Ignorance faded 
from before her radiant face, as night from 
the face of morn. 

You must not conjecture from what I 
have said thus far, little friends, that Ire- 
land was like the old dame who sat at home 
propped up by nice things,” yet who was 
ever quaking in fear of robbers. No. Be- 
sides being a dispenser of learning, she was 
also a mighty military power. Year after 
year, hordes of fierce Danes dashed them- 
selves against her like furious billows 
against the sea wall. But at that time the 
word defeat could not be written upon the 
Emerald banner. Ofttimes, the very ones 
most skilled in the art and language, oft- 
times the priests, too, were the ones to stand 
out and with glittering sword lead their 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


valiant followers to victory. Yes, after 
many years of almost ceaseless struggle, the 
proud green and gold still swept on the 
breeze, while the tireless warrior sang on the 
immortal song of Desmond. 

But, you must know, young friends, that 
constant struggling will sap the strength of 
any nation, so it did in time that of Erin. 
After years of ceaseless conflict, she beheld 
a new and powerful enemy coming to bend 
her neck to the yoke of servitude. This 
new foe were called the Normans. This 
little chapter does not contain space in which 
to tell you of all the cruelties this bitter en- 
emy of the Irish heaped upon them. After 
their resources had been weakened by years 
of war, then the relentless oppressors began to 
persecute the humiliated people with a vicious- 
ness without parallel in history. Those who 
refused to turn their hacks upon the cross, 
and renounce the Catholic faith, were tortured 
to death. Lands were ruined, houses de- 
stroyed, parents ruthlessly cut down before 
the eyes of their children. The history of 
Ireland at this period runs along in beautiful 
accord with the story of Evangehne. 

You may now ask, if the people of Erin 
were the favored children of Heaven, if 
they were always loyal to the teachings of 
Christ, why did they not, in the end, come off 
382 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


the victors ? Ah, one might as well ask, Why 
did not our Saviour Himself, by His Divine 
power, strike dead those who persecuted 
Him ? Because He willed to be humiliated 
for a purpose. The prince of darkness has 
had his day. The day of the Lord will dawn 
at the proper time. Then woe to his enemies. 
This thought may well be applied to the 
nation of Erin. 

Here is a reflection for you, young friends, 
that you would do well to keep always in 
your minds. We may well believe that the 
All-Wise God is allowing so many afflictions 
to fall on His people (as He did upon His 
chosen people of old, the Israelites), to scatter 
them through the world bearing the torch of 
faith to those who sit in darkness. 

Now, young friends, what are you to glean 
from what I have said ? First, I would have 
you remember how great a nation Erin was 
for many centuries. She is still a great na- 
tion, not considered so perhaps in the judg- 
ment of the worldly-wise, who measure 
greatness only by wealth and power. But 
she is great in the sight of God, by reason 
of the worthy mission she has performed for 
His honor and glory. 

Do not, then, think less of the nation of 
your fathers and mothers, because, at times, 
a few ignorant bigots ridicule in some of 
383 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


her children the lack of culture and refine- 
ment — so called. Remember that true re- 
finement does not consist in external glamour, 
but in purity of heart and loyalty of soul. 

Tis not the coat, that makes the man.” 
Again, no other people have fought so vali- 
antly to defend the stars and stripes, and laid 
down their lives more bravely than the emi- 
grant sons of Ireland. This is true of every 
war our country has engaged in, from the 
time of Washington to our latest conflict. 
Look through your histories of the United 
States and see how frequently the pages 
thereof are marked by distinctively Irish 
names. No set of people, therefore, under 
heaven, has a better right to the enjoyment 
of this noble land, than have the same chil- 
dren of the Emerald Isle. 

Never blush, therefore, boys and girls, at 
your Irish parentage. You have no reason 
to do so. When the feast of Erin’s Patron 
Saint comes around, show your colors ! Pin 
on to your little jackets, close to your hearts, 
the sprig of shamrock, or the little green 
ribbon, where every one can see it. Re- 
member, that though she has lived for many 
years in subjection, although, she has lost 
her place amongst the powerful nations of the 
world, she is destined one day to resume that 
place. God must reward her loyalty to His 

m 


THE EMERALD ISLE. 


cause. Erin will yet call her exiled children 
about her, and the psalm of joy they shall 
sing will be heard around the world. I be- 
lieve firmly, young friends, that the Irish 
spirit for independence still lives. Like that 
faith to which she has clung through ages of 
cruelty, it may be said of her also that oft 
doomed to die, she is fated not to die. Vic- 
tory must be with her, for the power of God 
is with her. Other people have given up the 
faith of their fathers at the bidding of the 
sword. Ireland, never ! Surely so much 
steadfastness cannot go unrewarded. 

You, then, who are the sons and daughters 
of Irish parents, keep sacred the lessons that 
have been taught you in your youth. The 
lessons of faith and respect for the traditions, 
the glorious deeds of Erin’s sons. Above all, 
cherish that grace of faith and love of Holy 
Church, for which the Irish people have ever 
been distinguished. Then, you will be 
perpetuating the glory of the country of 
your forefathers and of the name of St. 
Patrick. 


25 


as5 


Ube problem* 


s — S H H. 

When I was a little lad, about eight or 
nine years old, I was the chubbiest little 
fellow you ever saw. (Pardon my egotism.) 
This I can prove by an old faded tin-type, 
that still stands on my desk. I wasn’t a 
particularly quiet little chap either, nor had 
I a very wide reputation for piety. Still — I 
wasn’t a sissy boy, nor did I wear fancy 
stockings, therefore I couldn’t have been 
very bad. Stockings ? Never in the sum- 
mer-time. The soles of my little feet were 
as callous as the hide of a rhinoceros. My 
face was freckled and, here and there, 
some unruly shoots of hair poked rudely 
through the holes in my old straw hat. 
What of it? Well, I’m coming to the point. 
I had the good fortune to be reared in what 
geographers would call a country village, in a 
place far removed from the polishing in- 
fluence of the city. 

Just across the lot from us, a retired old 
farmer lived. Jep Jenner was his name. 
He was a kindly old man and brimful of 
386 


THE PROBLEM. 


talk always. He was very stooped, for he 
had worked hard in his day. Now, in his 
twilight years, he was resting on his oars. 
He no longer plowed and harrowed, he 
went up a peg. He became a Methodist 
preacher. I don’t know why it was — but 
he seemed to have a solid liking for me. 
So much so, that scarcely did I ever meet 
him, that he did not say in his cackling old 
voice, Say, son, come over to the barn 
this afternoon. Want to show you some- 
thing.” Now, I claim that no little boy 
could resist a temptation such as this. So I 
invariably answered each invitation in per- 
son. And so in consequence, on that day, 
my little freckled face was missed from the 
line of scholars that toed the scratch before 
Miss Nichols, the village school-mistress. 

Well, I remember one day, old Jep put 
his arm kindly around me, as I sneaked into 
the barn. His manner was more subdued 
than usual, and I concluded that he was 
going to hand me over to the constable for 
being a rascally truant player. I was wrong 
in this impression. He sat me on an old 
soap-box, handling me as gently as a mother 
would her baby. He looked at me as if he 
were going to take my picture, then he 
backed off a few paces, put on his glasses, 
and began to spout, not as a campaign orator, 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


but, softly, smoothly, as a good old parent 
speaks words of advice to a wayward son. 

Dear little ones,” he began in an earnest 
way, in the absence of your parson, I am 
going to speak to you to-day, and I am going 
to choose for my theme that which I think 
will have the greatest influence on your 
lives.” Only here did it strike me that the 
good old man was trying on me the sermon 
he was to deliver to the children on the fol- 
lowing Sunday in the Methodist church. 
Then, my little face became fevered with a 
strange dread. Jiminy 1 ” I muttered, if 
Father Killeen ever hears that I listened to 
a preacher, he’ll kill me.” Funny fantasies 
began to buzz around my head like pesky 
mosquitoes. For a space, I kept one eye on 
the old man and one on the stable door, 
watching my chance to skip. But this fear 
soon passed away under the soothing effect 
of Jep’s fervent words. I put my back up 
against a feed-bag, and I became interested 
by degrees, yea, charmed, with the eloquence 
that was being poured into my soul. I never 
heard any one, before or since, talk like him. 
His words were simple, yet they soothed my 
little heart, like the rain drops in summer 
soothe the parched earth. His text was — as 
well as I can recall it now, For I know 
jnj iniquity, and my sin is always before 
388 


THE PROBLEM. 


me.” Since I have become a priest, I pass 
over these words frequently as I read the 
psalm Miserere.” 

The preacher that can hold the attention 
of young folks, is a preacher by instinct. 
Well, old Jep, held me as though I were 
glued to the box. As he wove and spun his 
simple story, I was strangely impressed, yes, 
overpowered. His theme was, “ Sin and 
Sorrow.” He it was, who sank into my 
heart, by his original method, the true re- 
lation between the sinner and his Beloved 
Lord. The former, he pictured as a little 
stubborn child, who dashes aside the fatherly 
hand that is held to him, and scampers away 
amongst strangers who fondle him for a 
while, only in the end to throw him out, 
some bitter cold night, into exterior darkness, 
wherein he moans, yea, riowly starves to 
death, whilst the tiny tears of sadness freeze 
on the little cheeks like glistening pearls. 
He said again, just before he closed his sweet 
little talk, that Sin and Sorrow are twin sisters 
who join hands ever, and walk down the 
silent, dark valley into the land of unend- 
ing remorse. 

As my old friend closed his discourse, he 
laid his hand gently on my head and said, 
^^You won’t forget what I’ve said to you, 
will you, son ? ” I vowed that I would 
389 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


not. Then lowering his voice into a whisper, 
warmed, no doubt, by love, he went on in 
ever softening tones, Yes, child, remember 
that God is your Father. Two little cords 
will bind you to Him in this life and in the 
next: Love — Virtue. Two little clouds will 
shut out all view of Him in time and eter- 
nity: Coldness — Sin. Be wise, and serve 
the Good Lord while the day lives, ^ for soon 
the night cometh when no man can work.’ ” 

I thanked old Jep for his nice little ser- 
mon just for me. I told him that I fain 
would tarry longer and chat with him, but 
that I had better hasten home, and give 
some plausible explanation of my absence 
from school throughout the whole afternoon, 
otherwise I would be bound to encounter the 
fate of all hookey-players ” a sound thrash- 
ing. 

Old Jep Jenner has passed beyond these 
many years. I am glad to tell you that his 
poor old frame rests beneath the shadow of 
the cross in a Catholic cemetery. He came 
into the fold ’tis true,’ nigh unto the eleventh 
hour. But he always tarried on the border- 
land of the Master’s flock, and he caught, no 
doubt, through the years many a syllable of 
truth, which under the atmosphere of his 
good moral life grew into the grace of his 
conversion. 


390 


THE PROBLEM. 


There must have been some true worth 
in that simple sermon in the barn, when, 
after the lapse of nigh twenty-five years, I 
can still recall its dim outline. Aren’t there 
some youngsters among you, who fail to re- 
call what has been preached to you, five 
minutes after the words have died away? 
I’m afraid so. Let me then, in closing this 
little book, give to you the notions of that 
memorable day, as they drift back to me, 
sweetened with the memories of youth. 

There is only one thing, then, that can 
cast gloom over the youthful heart, and that 
one thing is sin. Sickness, sorrow, poverty, 
and such things, weigh down the soul, but 
through the gloom the face of your Be- 
loved Master, can be seen beaming upon 
you, from the highest heavens. There is 
only one thing that can drive from the heart 
the melody of laughter, and that one thing 
is sin. 

To reduce, then, my idea, to a sort of 
algebraic symbol. S=S, sin=sorrow. This is 
an eternal truth. The two are as correlative 
as echo and sound. Therefore the deeper 
the sin, the deeper the sorrow. G— G, good- 
ness=rgladness. H=H, holiness=happi- 
ness. Thus, if I continue virtuous, if I keep 
God’s holy law, I must necessarily be happy, 
because God is the fountain of all joy. With- 
391 


SHORT TALKS TO YOUNG TOILERS. 


out him I cannot any more be happy than a 
thirsty man who is afar from the fountain, 
can cool his thirst. 

I fancy now I see your young faces grow 
thoughtful. You never heard these things 
spoken to you before in this fashion. Well, 
isn’t it all simple and true ? Your own little 
consciences will answer, yes. 

Look back over the years you have traveled. 
What days were gladsome, what days were 
gloomy ? Truly, those were the merriest, 
in which your souls were warmed with the 
grace of God, those in which they were free 
from the sickness of sin. 

You recall still those days, when there 
were lumps in your throat, when you longed 
to die, yet feared the flames of hell. Those 
were the times, when sin rested on your con- 
sciences like coals of fire. The days dragged 
along heavily, and the nights were filled 
with hideous fantasies. You wandered 
farther perhaps into the valley of gloom, 
until your Beloved Lord came by, and fold- 
ing you gently in his arms, brought you 
back again into the pasture-lands, whereon 
the sunlight played, and the air was filled 
with the breath of flowers. My last message 
to you, is nearly spoken. 0 dear little sisters 
and brothers, avoid sin, if you would pass 
along the years, with your young faces ever 


THE PROBLEM. 


lit in smiles and your hearts leaping in joy. 
This world in which we live is a beautiful 
world, let old misanthropes say what they 
will. Audit will be a happy one for you if 
you try to live spotless ever in God’s sight. 

THE END. 


393 



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